Where is your head lass,
 when you are stitchin?
It is in a time long ago...
in my mind today,
 Tis Downton Abbey that captures me.
Not upstairs...
nay, 
but down.
Not just Downton~
but 
actually more
Hildene...
Robert Todd Lincoln's
estate.
My Great Grandparent's served him
in his fields and house.
The maids and kitchen staff a flutter
 and at the table,
a young maid quickly makes
 tiny repair stitches. 
Her pins on a pinkeep 
made of scrap. 
Perhaps pieces of a uniform, 
long retired from it's obvious task?
I wouldn't be able to create 
in that time.
Life would have been spent with many more needful duties,
and 
creating would have been made in small, 
stolen moments.
I wonder sometimes if my heart held memories, 
over years greater than I.
Could the stars and heavens
 have kept glimpses 
of another era
reflecting
that heart?
 

 
 






