Poem: The Magic of Steps


The Magic of Steps

You can’t see it at first.
It takes time and patience.
The stringing of each strand,
all of them, some of color,
some bland and almost invisible.

The first work is tedious
and there is no visible evidence
of progress.

But you continue none the less.
counting on the knowledge of others
to carry truth
that even you can use.

You begin at last
and the magic happens
right on cue.

It’s astonishing what happens
when you finally follow the instructions.

About this poem

One of the amazing things (although I should have known it all along) that I came to understand when I fell into my darkest depression a decade and nearly a half ago, is that I was not as unique as I felt like I was. That others had traveled the same path and that I could learn the lessons and follow the experience and teaching of those before me, and that it worked.

Oh, or the poem could be about weaving.


PS: The picture was taken at the Hancock Shaker Village

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