The shuttle glides back and forth
one string falls on top of the other:
A pattern emerges.
Single threads are becoming something greater than themselves -
a new fabric in time.
The weaver at his rustic wooden loom
Works both hands and feet -
A concentrated dance of creation.
This skill passed down from father and grandfather to son.
A length of fabric appears before him like a road he’s walking on
the faster he works the faster it comes -
Yet progress is relative,
he rolls it in and continues.
The trailing string draws closer
Leaving its trace in the dirt -
evidence of a long day’s labor.
as the sun sets, he delicately winds up the rest
in an elegant, criss-crossed pattern, the weaver knows his art
At sunrise the next morning
he sets about sweeping and laying the path again
as it has been laid for generations.