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A Favourite of mine...

I've shared this poem before. I thought it was worth sharing again. The Rabbit & Bear that accompanies it below is new, and I think it might be my new favourite. It tugs at my heart and mind…

It takes me home.

✨️

We are all weavers —

each of us bent over our own quiet loom,

threading the needle through the eye of ourselves,

beginning always at the centre,

that first warm knot

where we were tied to the world.

From there, it radiates.

Slow and sure,

in the same way a tree

does not ask permission to grow —

it just grows,

ring by patient ring,

recording everything it survived.

Some years run wide and generous,

drunk on rain,

lush with the particular green

of being loved well.

Others press thin as a held breath —

drought years, grey years,

years where the thread pulled tight

and we wondered if it might break.

It did not break.

It became instead a part of the pattern,

woven into the whole,

the way a scar becomes a story

once enough time has passed.

Look closely at the fabric of a life

and you will find them all there —

The fleeting ones,

bright as a season,

gone before you learned their name,

yet somehow still luminous

somewhere in the weave.

The ones who passed through briefly

but left a colour nothing else could replicate.

And then — the others.

Those whose threads you can no longer

separate from your own,

whose fibres have grown so intertwined

with the very warp of you

that you no longer know

where they end

and where you begin.

You carry all of it.

Your fingerprints pressed into every inch,

wholly and unmistakably yours.

No two tapestries alike.

No two people

held the same thread

and pulled it the same way.

And yet,

as the weaving grows outward,

as we move further from that first knot,

that original warmth at the centre —

something in us turns.

A quiet hunger

for the beginning of the thing.

We find ourselves reaching back

through the layers,

tracing the oldest threads,

the ones that taught our hands

how to hold.

Seeking those who were woven into us

before we had words for it —

who are not just part of the pattern,

but the pattern itself.

We follow those threads home

through everything we have become,

through every ring,

every drought, every blossoming —

Back through the whole long,

gorgeous and grief-threaded story of us.

Looking for answers,

looking for comfort,

looking

for home.

T.S.❤️

Image dialogue:

"We are each a tapestry woven from everyone who has ever touched our lives, especially those we've loved," said Bear. "And no matter how far and wide and varied our particular tapestry may grow, some threads will only ever lead one way: Home."

©️Tara Shannon, 2026

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