07/16/2025
Willow
A new beloved teacher.
She speaks through softness and tension.
She reminds me to attune—
to move at the pace of relationship.
Each pass, each curve,
zooming in, zooming out.
How does she want to take shape?
How will I shape her?
She asks my hands to listen. Deeply.
There is no forcing here.
Only an invitation to slow.
To notice the space between movements.
To follow the weaver, spiraling.
She whispers,
What do you want to weave into your life?
In this moment?
I weave in my tears.
My grief and praise.
That which cannot be named.
This basket holds more than its form.
It holds thresholds and crossings,
the murmur of memory,
and the pulse of what waits to be born.
Something ancient moves through fingers and fiber,
a quiet conversation between body, breath, and branch.
