We are all but different parts of a whole; woven like cloth; many threads pulled into diverse patterns and the fabric of a specific time and place.
Dark and light, reds, yellows, and browns, greens, blues, and hazel; multi-coloured skin, hair, and eyes: each thread picked up, intermingled into check, stripe, tweed, or tartan, amalgamations becoming their own distinct and recognisable identities.
Fibres have strength when bound together, intertwined, plaited tightly and loosely, in and out, over and beneath.
So are people; all sentient things need to be part of a greater tapestry: each thread in the weave holding up the next. Why do some insist on being the scissors?
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 22 June 2019
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