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I sit, needle in hand. Surrounded by nothing, yet everything. Possibility limitless.
You think you see me. What’s there. In truth, you see as I allow. You think you understand. Perhaps you do, in part.
We are everywhere, we three, in differing guises. I, the spinner; my second and third. They follow, though you must look elsewhere to find them. Aisa, perhaps, may find you first, if you are careless with your allotted time.
I think you know me now. The weight of your gaze suggests it; the sudden change.
Time’s passing brings changes for us too. No loom or spindle. Thread replaced by yarn, needle lengthier as year turns upon year. Thus do we hide in plain sight, on your eyeline. Committed to task, as you create your own chances, heedless and harried. Oblivious.
The failing is in not seeing - the real decisions are made elsewhere.
The suggested word prompt for this one was "contemplation".