Scraps

Studying beneath the attic window, a cloud rolls by darkening the pages. Reading, reading, seeking and writing scraps. Tap, tap,…keep reading. Tap, tap, tap, someone seeking my attention. A tap on the shoulder,…

I look up; Rain! I close the dusty tome and hurry to the glass. I release the latch to greet my Visitors, with a feeling like seeing someone you’ve missed. Pulling the window, a swelling rapture begins, as the rain escorting the breeze wets my skin and moves my hair.

Time to explore. Time to look up from the textbook to see the chalkboard. I turn from the open window to see a beam. A shard of light coming from afar. A new perspective. How big the Attic is. How well preserved the salvaged remnants remain, even dirty and brittle, not like the damp, black mold of basements. I go forward.

The light, coming from a twin I didn’t notice. Perfectly aligned to the window I sit under. Rain clouds on the north end, sunlight from the southern end; if I seek the bell tower, I’ll see a rainbow over The Abbey. I know it’s there so, I’ll explore the light.

Shapes rise up. The forgotten world in the attic becomes illuminated. I am drawn toward the boxes stacked to one side. Some are closed tight. Some were searched; for there are the discarded remnants, falling over the side.

I’m a child, again. Boxes of old paint jars and brushes. Some are filled with decorations. And here, a box of fabric. Like confetti, cut into all shapes. Some are solid with lace trim, some have no design at all, some have every color. I just opened a box with threads, buttons, and bows.

Soft music floats through the window; someone is singing. Then, I see the treasure. All the silk purses made from the sows ear. Paintings of everything line the wall. Large quilts folded neatly and wrapped in plastic. Hand carved wood art to dress the portraits and form furniture. Art everywhere! Statues carved from stone.

Write the beauty from all the scraps? Could I do that? I had to look. I chose the one at the bottom. Out of the dusty, yellow wrapping came a landscape of fabrics. A solid piece with lace forms a light coming from my window at the Abbey. A comforter, sewn from the scraps of life to form an Abbey, that wraps a soul in Her warmth. She doesn’t venture alone; She is escorted by love.

A Dusty Soul

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Posted on September 30, 2006, in Attic. Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. This is a potent piece Char. I found myself examining the attic as I read and feel a desire to check this space out often. Lovely!

  2. Each line suggests a place where one might go to sew the scraps that make our lives. A piece to warm the soul. Fran

  3. This is a lovely, calming, highly descriptive, thoughtful and well written piece. I’m finding the most delicious treats as I continue my readathon!

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