The Thimble

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The Thimble

It is a little light going on in my tired, dimmed mind.

Something I have never seen as precious

until this very moment has bubbled up in a ball of soft

white light to the surface of my thinking……

Yet it’s not just my mind with which I think it,

for, as my body buzzes with recognition of Mother

and the gift she gave of her silver thimble,

some other warmth showers my nine year old self.

I felt safe and secure when Mother was darning.

I sat by her, watching her wrinkled hands, those working

needle and thread against the tension of the cloth…..

With thimble behind, breakthrough was sure.

The support it gave to push yet not harm,

to succeed with this quiet and peaceful task

just with herself, an exercise not entirely for herself

yet one which allowed her own, now centred self, the space.

I found warmth bathing me…….
Mother felt safe and ……..so did I.

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