NESTS

Each of us weaves a nest from the threads of our story.

Threads spun gently, woven in transparent ways, letting the light pass through what we’ve done, what we’ve longed for, what we’ve spoken. A material record with a personal shape, its frame uncertain, yet somehow, it holds. A never-ending tension, suspended in air.

Some threads are strong as nests that never fall. Some reach us from afar, invisible ties that hold us in the dark. Some threads become chains, some nests, caves.

But there are threads of light, and threads of knowing — threads that bring peace, tying knots of quiet strength.

Some threads are stronger than joy, stronger even than absence.

Without these threads, my God, who could ever make a nest?

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