By Vera Agnes
I am weaving the
tapestry of my life.
I am spinning the threads of my past,
the odd and knobbly strands, the
smooth and soft ones, it is all flowing
like silk through my hands once I sit
down at my loom.
Only when it all blends together, I can
see the unfolding pattern I was blind to
see before. When bits and pieces
seemed like bitter blocks before, they
now turn into a manifold ornament, to enliven my life on a tapestry of
The more I weave, the more I trust.
Though sometimes I will bleed and
blister, it is inherent to the weaver’s
work and weave I must.
My tapestry is unique as yours, not
better or worse, simply mine and as my
tapestry grows, so do I.
I weave and I weep, I weave and I laugh.
I weave in darkness, I weave in light.
This weaving never ends.