Palimpsest

Spinning and Weaving

Drawing threads from here and there,

Hands long used to harder labour

And the bite of wind and sea

Now spin and weave

The story of our line,

Trace our seed in warp and weft

With colours drawn

From soil and sand, shrub and bloom

That speak our history in its sett.

It is the way of things

As story gives way to history

And on to misty legend

To find its way into our blood and bone.

We are all what our parents made us

As did theirs before

And cannot root the story from our own.

We are spun into a never ending cloth

That spirals to our roots,

Where e’re they lay,

Then rise to meet us through the ages.

It is ours to add another inch or two

And pass it on to other hands

More adept with added practice,

More skilled in added lore than mine.

The wheel spins out its thread.

The shuttle weaves in its pattern.

The loom churns out its cloth.

We are the output of many labours,

The product of many hands.

We each add our small measure

That binds us to the whole.

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