Woven threads

There are a good many things that I have wished to speak to my Master on. That name, that title, alone stirs up many thoughts and ideas. Dee had indicated that I was indeed "smitten" as if that clouds all sense of rational thought and the ability to see reality. In ways I suppose it does, but to some degree, do we not all color our realities?

I had found a place near the edge of the wagons where a good deal of the people passed by. In exchange for a steady offering of water filled botas I kept up with gossip, various wagers being bandied about, contests of skill such as greased tarsk grabbing, greased wine skin balancing, and even bola races and kaiila taming.

I saw a parade of goods that made my mouth water. Spices and metal goods, china and silks, soft woven cloth, and even wood were filling the coffers of the Tuchuk people. I hoped, with excited anticipation, that we would see a few new things within our wagons too. That squat round teapot kept coming to mind, even though the thought of anyone drinking tea at Master's made me laugh.

I was not envious until Shel happened by. Her children each clutched a new toy in chubby hands. Shel had several sacks of grains and flour, sugar and spice mixtures. She stopped, radiant with her successful wagering, and proudly showed me a set of long wooden needles meant for knitting wool. She even let me hold them, while I helped her with the packages back to her wagon. I could see the thread flowing over the warm wood, twisting into socks and scarves, cold weather clothing and even hats and linings. Their touch was soft, warm, light in my fingers, unlike the cold bone needles I had always used. Then she told me of a small wooden loom that she hoped to bring home with the next day of wagering. We shared a moment of affection for textile things, both of our eyes glowing with a warm delight, touching upon the heart and soul that we put into the craft of working with wool.

The thoughts of woven strands of colorful yarn reminded me much of life. After several days of introspection, a few revelations and a good amount of doing what I thought was expected I began to look beneath and see beyond the literal to the passionate underbelly of intention. I started weaving the threads of understanding, designing them with all the colorful yarns of knowledge.

To my thinking, my Master is not a man of constant management; unless, I imagine, it amuses Him to do so. I kept to my chores, but respected His wishes as well. I was never far from His wagons, but did not stop living either. I also realized I had several things to get taken care of, when the opportunity permitted. With the change in routine for almost all in attendance, the paths of Master and Seveya would not easily cross with mine. At least not without a little effort on my part. It would prove to be easier than I first imagined.