One of the interesting parts of writing the musings is that a line sometimes emerges that you hadn’t planned. There you are heading somewhere, and poof, a new metaphor. I was caught by the notion of spinning the mist into the threads of Peace.

Before we can begin to weave a blanket to warm us, we must spin the thread and that thread must contain all the colors of the seasons, winter whites, spring greens, summer golds and winter reds and oranges, the many colors of the sky and the waters and our beloved Mother Earth.

Only then can we begin to weave a blanket that will comfort and protect all of us. I am here, we can tell the world, these are my colors, this is what I know and can teach you about. Which are yours… what can you tell me about them?

My father, the dye chemist, was very proud that he could hand spin… and proud too that he could find the chemicals that made the colors sing. Everything adds something to the thread. Some of it will be expertly spun, some of it some of us will make a hash of… but once there is thread, we can weave that bumpy, uneven totally gorgeous mantle of Peace.