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?