By Sarah Cate Anstey, Nov 6 2016 09:07AM
Keeping her hands occupied, keeps Penelope’s mind from wandering. It is exhausted imagining his struggle against lotus-inducing lethargy. It is battered sensing the threatening storms driving him off course. It is anxious envisaging the menacing monsters which beset the journey he must make without her. It admits that there may be no return, or worse an unrecognisable arrival.
She weaves, believing her persistent productivity matches the progress she hopes he is making.
She weaves, blocking out the voices of dissent telling her to move on, get on, give up.
When her hands are numb, agitation builds and, undone, she unpicks her love.
In the cold morning light, the thread is resilient in her active hands, urging her to continue, to let it run its course.
© copyright Sarah Catherine Anstey 2016