A little train poetry for you today. Just one more beat.
1.11 pm, Track 10, carriage 2, seat 12, window. All aboard!
Essentials pulled out of my luggage – water bottle, books, a drawstring bag filled with magic. Taiko drums in my ears. My body greets the familiar rocking, the beat of the tracks. Trees are rushing by. I am in motion.
As I open the magic bag my fingers tingle, giddy from anticipation. I can weave at last. A six hour train ride captured in a sweet band in the colours of fruit drops, the kind your granny would keep in a chrystal bowl for special occasions only.
I tie a string around my waist, band lock holding the band in place. A whiff of juniper floats by. Coat hook on the seat in front of me secures the warp in the other end. My loom is simple – two hand carved sticks, cherry I think, control the shed. A third stick, maple perhaps, dressed in linen heddles spread across the knife tracks like a ruffled skirt.
Lean back to tense and plop the shed open, forward to slack and switch. If I listen I hear the song of the weave. A frrt to open the shed and welcome the pink butterflied weft, a sound reminding me of the first butterfly of spring, fluttering its wings to welcome the sun. Tkk tkk as the shed sticks keep track of the beat in synch with the taiko drums.
I lift the heddle stick and pull the weft through. Tighten the selvedge, and tug until I feel the warp threads in place, side by side, covering the weft with fruit drop stripes. Leaning backwards I make the beat. Another row added to the fell another beat toward a band.
I keep the weaving dance as the weave sings its weaving song, trees moving south as I go north to snow covered ground. I beat the weft to the beat of the drums, the beat of the train. The beat of my heart. The motion of the train in my body, my body as the loom moving with the breath of the weave, the up and down of the shed. I don't know where the motion begins or ends. A dance, a song, a journey and a beat. Just one more beat. One more beat.
7.27 pm track 3. I exit carriage 2 in a new town, the echo of the beat still rocking my body. Drawstring bag closed, ready to add some more magic to the ride back home.
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