Do you remember so long ago when it was that we first laughed? We were young, and lost, and lonely kids when you taught me to weave a basket.
“Steady hands. Careful, careful!” you would warn me to slow down. I’ve always been too overeager but you resolved to teach as I, to learn.
For hours and hours, we had sat under the sun. Legs crossed, fingers focused as our shadows stretched out.
And when we were done, after failing tries, quitting, retrying when I almost gave up, we sat back to admire our work, woven and striking.
As the sky painted our day to its end, we made a budding promise, as young friends often do because our trust is not beyond us.
I said, “I’ll hold your hopes here with my dreams and our ambitions. Gift you my hopes to hold in wicker, I know you will not lose them.”
That day seems immemorial, and our paths split not long after, but I found my basket, I heed our promise. Your hopes are still protected.