Blessed are you who hold the threads
who trace a through-line
who tack the climbing rope
for this team's journey

Blessed are you who tug twice, three times to check —
such precious weight
this thread supports — may it hold, may it hold!
may it safely lead us together
where we couldn't go alone

Blessed are you who weave
your thread with many others
to welcome, to warm,

a warm blanket,
a tapestry, a climbing rope,
holding history, guiding the journey,
a square with matte and shine to rest beneath a warm bowl of food

Blessed are you in your picking up
and your setting down,

letting another join and weave,
or letting this design muddle or rest in the background for a spell —
nothing is lost, all is love.
You are still a weaver, there will still be warmth and bread.

In every culture, to dance is to trade places.

Bless your intention, to love, to comfort, to draw close —
to weave beauty, coherence, symmetry,
to yes

all masterpieces contain flaws
a broken and inscrutable beauty we did not create nor can we remove

no weaver works alone
no weaver works without ceasing but the great weaver:
seed, movement, flourishing, rest, unraveling, rebirth

each climber stops to feel the wind’s embrace
to admire the trail
to rest, eat, reorient
tending to what is sore,
allowing inspiration to unfold

rarely in words, but in color —
in pattern —
in the nostrils and the tips of our fingers

in yearning and rest
what we sought finds us