Up and Down: Round and Round
Like the wheel on my spinning wheel I pump up and down on the treadle and the wheel spins round and round, the roving twists in my hand and yarn is made. Really all I do is tap my foot and gently hold on, pulling occasionally. It is a small part I play in this production at least it feels small almost unnecessary, but with a clear mind I see that without me it doesn’t get done. I am essential yet still just a foot-tapper and hanger-on neither of these is prestigious yet the whole fabric depends on my mundane actions. I take great comfort knowing that all over there are foot-tappers and hangers-on keeping safe this way of life, sometimes keeping it safe just through sheer repetition. And if you ask, “Is that Unity or Recovery or Service?” All I can say is “Yes it is.”
Powder your bottom line
There is a brackish River
Whose current changes directions twice a day
Its bed is well washed on every side.
It begs the question-
Which way is down hill?
There are times I struggle up hill in both directions
There are times I slip from every slope
What is up is often down
Judgment of topography requires distance
Scaling the surface takes tenacity
I plan on leaving my mark as I go
Life’s residue staining my finger tips.