The center of her being is stretched beyond her imagination.  The prominent lines of silver are only judging her outwardly uncomely.  She held each thread between her fingers and inwardly wove her beauty. Beneath these marks are memories of the lives she once carried.  She labored to deliver herself.  Born in right order she cried out twice in winter and once in late spring.  Two seasons from these three of her lives are completed.  She stands a bittersweet cuspate drawn by the lines of her years.

She understands separation is needed and how time can bring all things to light.  Her heart breaks in pieces with the thought of them leaving.  She gathers the fragments within her basket pulling her apron over her nest.  She now rests from her labor returning to work on the original two becoming one.

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