I am no weaver, I laughed, as someone suggested I might want to purchase a large loom for-sale at our local thrift store.
But I was wrong. We all are weavers of a sacred thread!
What are you weaving with the colors you hold?
Yesterday's colors ran through the carefree shrieks and laughter of children at precious play.
Today's threads, Lord willing, will be woven into echoes of a family reunion with cousins I rarely see!
As seasons spin time’s thinning thread
They weave far more than eye can see
With colors on the mind’s eye spread
Of moment turned to memory
How common Present seems, how small
Each segregated breath may feel
As tick and tock of clock-stock falls
Like stitches from a spinning wheel
No mortal valor, boast or creed
Can pause or slow the flow that slips
Into fathoms where daily deed
Is triumphed by twilight’s eclipse
Now you are there and I am here
Where smile and tear love’s While imparts
Before its moments disappear
Into the belvedere of hearts
…when all that will be left of ‘we’
(No one escapes that mortal dread)
Will be the ageless memory
Of what we did and what we said
The sweetest gift we all can give
No matter what our lot may be
Is to weave with each day we live
What leaves a lovely memory
© Janet Martin
The book Brantley seems thrilled to be holding was given to me by a friend/co-worker when Emily was born...the subtle shuttle of Time's luminous loom-in-us stuns us with its moment-ous mementos!