Coming and going

I began my life in a dimly lit, windowless room with wooden walls and dirt floors. Gnarled hands with small fingers made magic with multicolored threads of wool and wove me into existence. After the last warp and weft, I was snipped, washed and hung to dry. I met the sun, felt the warmth in its light, then the moon and the chill of darkness.

Soon, I was bundled away into a dark space. When I was released, I was carried into this room of marble floors and high ceilings, where I have lain ever since.

I have tracked the passage of time through the myriad windows that surround my home.

And through the little bodies that arrived carried in arms, then were set free to crawl upon me; who quickly began to walk then run, playing with other little ones; but, eventually played no longer, only walked and talked, occasionally loudly, leaving for many moons, rarely returning, sometimes with new little ones. Till all the faces grew lined, the bodies stooped and slow, eventually carried out never to return.

Then it would all begin again. Over and over. Through them all, I remained.

I am not as I once was. The sun has turned my bright colors dull; the many who have enjoyed the beauty and warmth I offered have rubbed away many parts of me. And yet, whoever comes, keeps me here.

And so you find me still, a perpetual silent observer of the lives that come...and go.