Susan LaffertyTiniest bird perches on a high branch. And sings his heart out.
Morning praise at sunrise.
Dark silhouette of this little feathered one begins to change.
Revealed in the march toward full-on blue sky and light of day.
Ocean roar in winter. Loud. Waves cross. Crash. Deep blues and teals mixing. Mingling. Foaming white.
Gale-force winds whip through. Scattering sand. Tearing at the water. And me.
Power on display.
And I am a mere whisper. Hushed.
Colorful skeins of thread surround him. And neutral strings on the loom show no pattern to follow. As far as I can see.
But the old carpet maker knows.
Thread by thread. Hour by hour. Day by day.
He works the loom, creating a rich pattern. A map of threads he already had in mind when he started.
