Crochet. Rhythmic, dynamic, meditative movement. Balls of cotton wound with promise of sweet release. Feeling the string wound round my fingers, allows my mind permission, space, to begin to unwind. Ages old, the practice of winding, moving, knotting, and back, go again, looping and twirling, colors releasing into magnificent patterns of hope. Breathing deeper, moving slower, beginning to unwind, stitch by stitch, row by row. Hands moving, hearts whispering, lips praying. Releasing the knots of the day into string. Becoming productive, useful. Knots that were in my heart now in my hands. Working. Moving them through. Cotton mounding, shaping into useful glory. What was once on my heart, now in my hands to wipe away the days troubles. Nothing more than a rag, to wipe dishes, to wash clean. To wipe tears, to gently release into the softness of cotton, the burdens of the heart. The chores of rags, the pieces of string woven together, one at a time. Forward and back, looped over and through, round it goes, round it goes. Like the moments of my life. Pieces of string woven together. Colors light, bright, moving, dancing with each other, wound round, twirling like the skirts of little girls. Ever moving, weaving, colors dark, mixed with light, creating a beautiful tapestry called life. Balls of cotton heaped high, waiting for the creator to take up, to wind with rhythms of movement, to knot, to unwind, to loop, and to twirl. Over and under, around and through, the blessings wound round, colors vivid, true. Hook the loop, pull it through, strings of love upon the heart knotted lovingly into purposeful works of art. Stitches joined together shaped to gently form soft like cotton blessings, piled high on love woven into rhythm, into life’s beautiful, blessed living.