Every person and event coming in and out of our lives forms part of the fabric  which each life becomes.  Our forming starts when we come into this world (no, I don’t wish to debate when life begins, that’s not my point).  The fabric does not exist until we put our hands to threads, dark, some of them; light; gossamer; wool or linen, sometimes synthetic. We weave, we pull the threads in and out, making the beautiful pattern.  In places what we create seems dark and sad; in places the picture has radiance.  No thread nor any part of a thread does not belong.  If a strand comes to us, it belongs in our tapestry, in the scenery which we create.  So I do not regret any single part of the whole.  Though there be spots which become worn or tattered, still I can find a needle and a spool of strong thread with which to mend the rips and tears.  I gently shake out the tapestry and trace those places worn thin with frequent folding.  I smooth the surface and close my eyes, feeling the cloth beneath my hands, luxuriating in the intricacy of its contours, not regretting the time which I have spent at the loom.

2 thoughts on “Tapestry

  1. Cindy Cieplik

    I love this imagery, and how you bring the tapestry to life! Adore the final thought–not regretting!
    Did the fabulous art hanging on the walls of your office suite inspire this post at all?

  2. ccorleyjd365 Post author

    No, I’m sorry, Cindy. It didn’t. I wrote a poem years ago in which I talked about the torn threads in my tapestry. Then Carole King came out with her song and I had to drop the imagery lest I be accused of copying! But it has always resonated with me.


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