The Gift
Every stitch in the tapestry matters and is necessary, every shade, every hue;
Each twig, each fallen leaf and those that still cling to their branches, wearing their olive and citron garb;
The sun shining on them, just so, and all the tiny ripples in the lake and the grasses along the shore;.
The skins that quiver in the cool air and beneath the green water, the eyes that see, the hearts that beat to the rhythm of the song, the minds that drink in its beauty, the spirits that echo back the Yes;
This dance is the gift. And we are the dancers, a living tapestry of twigs and leaves, of the earth and waters, we, with our feathers and fins and bare white limbs reaching skyward, we, the air and the sunlight, the breathing and the breathed, the seers and the seen. We are the tapestry; we are the dance.
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