What a marvelous mosaic of stories we make.
You must look at the weave of us
And wonder at the artistry of Your work,
The way we intertwine and move among,
Perhaps never knowing.
Perhaps never touching,
But all our varying shades,
The balance of light and shadow in our fibers,
Make us such a perfect painting.
And maybe that is why we feel so ugly,
Zoomed in so closely as we are,
Microscopic. Seeing the speck of grayish blue,
And not the rolling sea beneath a storm.
Seeing the sickly slice of red,
And not the booming meadow of sunset.
Perhaps we threads would not feel so lonely,
So starkly different, so bent and tangled,
So lost within the maze,
If, rather than solitary, twisting twine,
We saw the tapestry.
– s. Clark