Perhaps it was the fairy stories and folk tales that I loved as a child that lead me to love weaving. The images of the spinning wheels and looms have lingered in my memory far clearer than that of any charming prince. Whenever I visit historical exhibitions, it is the carding, spinning and weaving that hold my attention the longest. The women on both sides of my family have produced excellent needlepoint, knitting, and crocheting. Not one of them has been a weaver, and yet I feel the strength of it in my soul as though it has been handed down to me. And, perhaps it has: I often see myself sitting at the loom as I visit with my elder spirit women.
I am fascinated by woven cloth. It is one of those mysteries of life that seem so simple and yet so incredibly complicated. Living is much the same, I suppose: the cloth looks simple and complete, yet closer scrutiny reveals the wonder of the pattern and the intricacies of the yarns that form it. I truly believe there are no mistakes in this world, only paths that wind and cross to form the pattern of a life; the “mistakes” become knots that make the finished product stronger.
Kyle came in to my life and his colors became intertwined with mine as I furnished the weft on which he weaves his own tapestry. Whatever the reason we have come to this place, the knowing is that this is the perfect time, the perfect setting, and we are each becoming our perfected selves. The getting here has been a long, woven road, and the culmination of it lies in an unknown future which will be, like one thread woven to another, both a beginning and a completion.