Tread

Strands of white,

            Purple bisected them, merging onto a line of teal and grey.

They stretched from wall to wall—

            Kissing the window and the missing the fall air,

            That seeped in from crack under the door.

Cars could be heard racing past as fingers reached aimlessly;

            Though height was a factor,

                        Distraction was far worse.

Clumsy feet maneuvered around supplies,

                        Scissors, tape, staples,

All disarray on the floor in meaningless fashions.

            They waited for their assigned duties;

                                    Monotony a gleam

Like diamond rings under colorful makeshift sky.

Night was the time for creative tendencies—

            Apparently.

Thoughts flowed easier, and the mind was more open to ideas.

Ideas on how to turn a web into a definition,

Disorganized tapings and attachments

            Into a picture of good and evil.

Or, perhaps, these things were just a means,

To thread together people and places—

That managed to catch within something

                        That could have been,

Instead,

as simple as a scarf.