For a special Saturday morning treat my son, Jeb, and I buy donuts and eat them in the park.  I buy him his first surfing magazine at the check out counter and we look at big waves – “oh…look, he’s in the tube!” – while eating maple glazed pastries.  Sugared up, Jeb wants to run the training course and swing really high.

Back home, we try playing Neil Young‘s “Razor Love” together.  I’m strumming the guitar his dad brought back from India and Jeb sounds great with the harmonica and shaker.

I’m still obsessing on jade and spent part of the morning stringing beads on to waxed linen.  I ponder over the coincidence that we saw a toddler named Jade at the playground on the swing set.

There is no point to me making a necklace but it feels good and I don’t want to stop.  A line from what I think is a poem by Rumi comes to mind – something about following a thread.  But after searching through old journal entries and online queries, I realize that I’m thinking of William Stafford‘s poetry.

The Way it Is

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change.  But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

Something’s changing.  I don’t know exactly where I’m going but I’m following the thread.