Single Threads Together

Sunset over the Delaware River, Feb.2020

Sun and clouds reflected on the surface of the Delaware River, Feb. 24, 2020

Monday Morning Musings:

“It may be the only mark we make. Sic parvis magna … From small things, greatness.”

–Tracy Chevalier, A Single Thread: A Novel

 

 

Spring enters in a gavotte

to finish with a sun-kissed flower finale,

but winter interrupts the dance

grabbing the dancers with icy fingers

and thrusting them apart

 

this dance is the thread of life,

the world wakes again

the birds are beginning to sing–

just before dawn I hear them

rehearsing for early summer’s concert

9B114940-A5BF-4671-964F-5F06ECB31865

Later, they perch like fruit on trees

gathering in numbers

to sing farewell to the sun

and the day, old friends perhaps

who can finish each other’s sentences

 

threading them with references

that bind them together

a single thread, and another

woven into the fabric of the season

unraveled, threaded, woven again.

 

 

My sister-friends and I drink tea

we drop story-stitches, pick them up again,

single threads joined together

made stronger by overlapping

knotting them in love

 

nourishing them with food and drink–

the sandwiches are delicious

and so are the sweets.

We talk of #MeToo, politics,

of scary and stupid people

 

who sew all the wrong threads

into a horrid designs–

and then we sigh,

change the subject,

pour more tea

 

into the lovely cups. We drink.

The room is full of women,

and I wonder why

is this a woman’s place

or thing?

 

This sorting of masculine and feminine,

of black and white threads

of Christian, Muslim, Jew,

and places we’re afraid to go (my friend says),

these are knots that need unraveling. We sigh. Again.

 

The wind blows cold,

My husband and I stay inside

I make soup

bake bread

we watch movies and TV.

I watch my cat,

he is sick,

I wish I could heal him

with bread and soup–

he watches birds and the sun.

 

IMG_6448

My cat is better, but the world is sick

I wish I could heal it with bread and soup

and tea–

we could talk, women, men, children

weaving our stories together,

 

each of us a single thread

stitched into a blanket of time.

Does one stitch make a difference, or not–

I watch the sun rise and set,

tomorrow, I may see a flower bloom

 

small things that make a mark,

the tree that grow from a single seed

the egg that hatches into an eagle

the things that change the world,

single threads, woven together.

7124E424-B946-424D-B68D-6CC73822624E

Crocuses blooming, and daffodils coming up.

 

 

My friends and I had tea at Mademoiselle Macaron in Mullica Hill, NJ. I’m actually more of a coffee drinker, but going out to tea is something special.  I’m about halfway through Tracy Chevalier’s A Single Thread. It’s a historical novel that discusses the “surplus women” in between the two World Wars, and focuses on one who joins the embroiderers who embroider the kneelers at Winchester Cathedral. Any readers who go to my local library, I’ll return it for you soon.  🙂

Merril’s Movie Club: We missed it in the theater, but Honey Boy is now streaming. It is Shia LaBeouf’s autobiographical story (he plays his father)–sad, funny, and moving. I thought it was excellent. My cat was a bit alarmed by Bob Dylan’s harmonica music at the end.

0AF75D86-CC4E-4527-BE51-50484DAC5490