Weaving. It is the dynamism of this word that flashes at me this morning. Furious flying of weft through warp, threads, brilliant, varied, dyes from onion skin, wild-flower petals, natural colours of the wools.  Or indigo dye, crushed shells of small sea creatures – the dye that only starts to turn its deep blue when the still wet wool is lifted into the air and begins to oxidise.  All these colours, all these threads are waving, wildly combining, crossing over, side by side, every colour, so many thicknesses. For every strand that ends, we tie another connection, start with another brilliant ball of  yarn –  wool, silk, or maybe cotton.  Tufts carded and cleaned, twisted and spun. Or maybe it’s straw that we are spinning into gold. There must be some golden strands among this weaving of mine that binds and brings us all together.

I will not undo this work.  I am no Penelope. This is not an act of perpetual deferral, a tactic of delay, waiting for the return of a hero who disappeared the moment he first sailed off to other wars. I weave and weave, the threads begin to weave themselves. There are silk sarees in Tamil Nadu with threads of gold, Navajo rugs woven to hold warmth with beauty through the night, thick Icelandic sweaters, gloves, scarves, hats – weaving, knitting, crochetting, all ways of making something that cradles and comforts from what could just be a tangle of string.

All the ways we turn our love into the work of our hands into the wrapping each other in so much warmth – the work of my hands is to weave these strands into a tapestry that includes all, holds all, keeps us together, warm, safe, sharing space, protected from these cold November winds.

What is Present, not precious? 

Update: I wrote and typed this up in the spirit of ‘present, not precious’ and was aware that I wasn’t 100% sure about the processes of indigo dye.  Curiosity has led me to find that some indigo dyes are made from shells (related to Tyrian purple) but some are made from indigo plants.  I’ve learned that the ones made from the plant do, indeed, turn that characteristic blue on oxidation with air.  I haven’t determined if this is the case for the dyes made from the shells.  The more I look into it, the more fascinating and complex it is.

This entry was posted in Music and art, New Mexico, Present, not precious - November 2016, Writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to weaving

  1. Today’s “Trump” is the Wheel of Fortune. Humph. It represents the need for caution, and realisation that we must accept the fact that fate is not what we could have done, but the result of what we have already done, whether deliberately or not. Everything is in flux, constantly changing, accidental and essentially uncontrollable. Yup.
    I think it’s time to weave or knit some strands together, like Melissa, to keep the nest safe and warm and full of love.


  2. Hi Melissa, I’m finding this prompt series really fruitful. I loved ‘glass’ especially the last paragraph , and your son’s fox experience paints a lovely picture. I did leave some comments but they don’t seem to be there, could be I sent them from my not very compliant phone! x

    Liked by 1 person

    • Melissa says:

      Thank you, Nicole! I didn’t see the other comments – that makes me sad. Silly technology! I’m so glad you’re finding the series fruitful and I thank you for taking the time to read my thoughts. I find it’s providing an unexpected outlet for thoughts to tell a truth slant.


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