Pattern of Life

I see my time as a bolt of cloth

With a clear pattern

Lengths of dark blue and grey, drab and dull and uninteresting,

though occasionally flecked with reds and purples.

And then every so often there is a patch of vibrant

Rainbow colors

Glowing and shimmering, eclipsing the other sections in their beauty.

These sections are my favourite

But the other parts drag them down.

They are outnumbered, and sometimes they are unravelled or stained.

And so I lose one patch of exquisite design, and must wade

Through more of the grey

In hope that the next section will be perfect.

But then I pause as I study the fabric, and look away from it

And realize that I am the one doing the weaving.

I am choosing to weave the pattern I do.

So why am I mostly using grey?

Surely I can make a better design than that.

I look through my yarns. I know that I can’t weave everything in rainbow

But I choose a gold thread,

And add it to the loom here

In another place I add a skein of crimson,

A dash of violet

A splash of lush, vibrant green.

I weave for a little, then sit back and smile

I can still see the grey, faintly.

The blue peeks through occasionally.

But now it is surrounded, embroidered, wrapped and intertwined .

A bit of silver catches the light and glitters; a liquid aquamarine flows in and out.

And I am happy.

Because now even though they are not rainbow

The patches have a beautiful pattern of their own.