![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
capri0mniWomen set the spindle turning, let gravity and momentum do their work, and draw strong thread from loose strands of wool, flax and cotton. Their hands must be steady, their fingertips alert to any wobble in the spin, or the thread will be to weak to use. And so they sit in near perfect stillness as they draw forth the thread from which every piece of clothing, every tapestry and every ship's sail will be born.
But their minds and their words are free. And so they pass the hours telling tales, entwining loose strands of memory, dream, hope and sorrow into the strong threads that bind their people together, and weave the fabric of their culture. Telling tales -- spinning yarns. See how the eternally growing thread glints in the firelight -- shining, long and bright and golden as a ray of the sun.
The Goddess, in her heaven, spun this light, from the sun on her distaff of the universe. The Earth, her spindle weight, set turning through the power of momentum and gravity, drew forth that light, and gathered it up within the trees and growing things, just as the women's yarn is gathered around the spindle's shaft.
The trees are brought in, and their bark is shredded into fibrous strands. With the friction of the spinning drill, the sun's heat is brought forth into a puff of smoke, and tiny spark. A gentle breath calls that spark to life, until it is a glowing flame, strong enough to call forth the power of the sun itself from the heart of a once-mighty oak.
And the women gather 'round the hearth, basking in the heat of summers long past, and summers newly past, as time unwinds around them like a ball of twine rolling around the world. They sit by the fire, spinning yarns, telling tales, spinning yarn.
But their minds and their words are free. And so they pass the hours telling tales, entwining loose strands of memory, dream, hope and sorrow into the strong threads that bind their people together, and weave the fabric of their culture. Telling tales -- spinning yarns. See how the eternally growing thread glints in the firelight -- shining, long and bright and golden as a ray of the sun.
The Goddess, in her heaven, spun this light, from the sun on her distaff of the universe. The Earth, her spindle weight, set turning through the power of momentum and gravity, drew forth that light, and gathered it up within the trees and growing things, just as the women's yarn is gathered around the spindle's shaft.
The trees are brought in, and their bark is shredded into fibrous strands. With the friction of the spinning drill, the sun's heat is brought forth into a puff of smoke, and tiny spark. A gentle breath calls that spark to life, until it is a glowing flame, strong enough to call forth the power of the sun itself from the heart of a once-mighty oak.
And the women gather 'round the hearth, basking in the heat of summers long past, and summers newly past, as time unwinds around them like a ball of twine rolling around the world. They sit by the fire, spinning yarns, telling tales, spinning yarn.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2002-11-20 04:29 pm (UTC)And if they don't, I'll send the boys round to "convince" 'em... :)
no subject
Date: 2002-11-20 08:12 pm (UTC)Here's a picture of a woman spinning with a drop spindle (either that, or it's a man in a dress):
http://www.mdnpd.com/pd/images/hndspndl.jpg
That's what I'm wondering, anyway...
no subject
Date: 2002-11-21 09:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-11-21 10:44 am (UTC)My aide has a pre-Columbian South American spindle whorl which she made into a necklace. She'll lend it to me so I can wear it while reading the piece... so that will be cool... It has simple decoration carved into its edges, sorta like sun ray designs (though since I can't ask the person who made it, I can't say whether that's what she had in mind or not :-) -- but I wouldn't be surprised if it was).