Somewhere
In the end we are the stories of our being, woven into the stories of all those we have touched, each of us a fibre being spun into a yarn and affecting its texture and its colour and its nature and becoming a part with the million others of the thread that weaves the tapestry… and this is how we matter, for the touching makes us part of another’s touching, and another, and another…
“…I knew this man who said…”
“…and she told me how…”
“…he helped, a total stranger…”
“…whoever she was, she made the difference…”
“…someone somewhere said…”
“…I always do it this way, I suppose it started somewhere…”
So what matter if you can’t recall my name? I am out there still, for ever, somewhere, and you could find me, if you just knew where to look.
By SC Jan 2009
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