SHE LOOKS AT ME AND begins twisting the threads, I am dumbfounded. She is going to do it. I can’t believe it. Not now, please, I still have three books half finished and three others already in outline mode that I need to write. It isn’t fair, I want to scream at her, knowing of course, it will not make the slightest bit of difference. She cannot hear my plea, how can She? Deaf to all. Eyes only for her precious tapestry, weaving this thread than that one. Twisting, twining, feeding new ones in here, some there, seeing where they lead, looking for patterns. All I’ve ever been able to do is watch and worry, knowing She would come to mine, but so soon? No! I want to scream.