I know I wasn't feeling cold last night - perhaps it's
the onset of Fall weather, and the promise of Winter, with all of its
uncertainties, but I awoke at 3am,
thinking about the multi-coloured crazy quilt that used to cover Mom &
Dad's bed so many years ago. I can
remember sitting on that quilt with my sisters and playing travelling games on
the beautiful landscape that we saw there; so many vibrant colours and textures
- it fuelled our young imaginations! I
began wondering who had stitched that quilt - where all of the patches had
originated - what clothing had been transformed. As I wrapped myself in that warm memory, my
older imagination kicked in and, lost in contemplation, I wrote the following
poem:
My Crazy Quilt
Memories fade, and friends move on,
But in my heart they're bound;
I've pulled them into my crazy quilt
And stitched them all around.
I've pricked my finger many times,
But I soon forget the pain,
For my crazy quilt is a wondrous quilt,
That can never be made again.
I pull it 'round me every night
And I feel the love that's there,
All stitched up in my crazy quilt,
Each friend, a colour rare.
I've travelled
tracks, this way and that,
All up and down my life,
Those crooked stitches, funny patches,
Daughter, mother, wife.
My fingers trace the criss-cross path
That joins each memory,
And I wonder at the landscape fair
That my life has come to be.
As I live each day, I'll find a way
To gather patches new,
I'll pull them into my crazy quilt,
And I'll stitch them carefully too.
When the world seems scary, dark and dim,
I won't despair or moan,
For I'll feel the warmth of my crazy quilt,
And know I'm not alone.
