The Path

A faint shaft of sunlight sifting down through the trees, a path being revealed?


With my membership list in hand, I set off to solicit donations to the Chamber of Commerce Awards Banquet Silent Auction.  The road wound around the side of the hills headed down, providing vast views through the tree tops of the surrounding mountains. Cosy homesteads, some million dollar properties, poked through in places as I descended to the river and the village of Harrisville.

I drove around the narrow streets bridging the river and waterfalls, taking my time to park before heading into the Harrisville Designs showroom. The massive door creaked open on ancient hinges and I was washed in sunlight, warm colors and massive space. The proprietress was in her office in another mill building but I didn’t want to leave. The fibers, textures and colors of the wool were like a garden of wildflowers against the honey-colored wooden looms. I don’t knit or weave but if I could have stayed in this wonderland of wool I would apply myself and learn all things fiber.

The second mill building was more imposing. I entered through heavy doors again and found wide, bright hallways leading off in two directions. Lindy Greenwood looked up from her sunny desk. The second floor office was strewn with colors and fabrics, muted oriental rugs softened the aged wooden floors. When we finished discussing the donations, I asked her about a job posting with the Historic Harrisville office. She said to check with Linda on the first floor.

The office was empty so I left a copy of my resume and decided to wander around a bit. One hallway lead to a gallery room between the buildings. Light flooded in from two sides and the walls were lined with historic photos of life in Harrisville during the town’s heyday. I stood and felt the water rushing below the building, its gentle symphony repeating notes as it dashed over the worn granite bed. There didn’t seem to be another soul in the world yet I felt the hair rise on my arms as wisps of spirits drifted by me. Generations of hardworking people carving out a space so beautiful it seemed frozen in time.

As soon as I returned to my office, I fired off a cover letter to David Lord regarding the job listing and crossed my fingers that the light would grow brighter on a path…

Saturday afternoon. After a lovely ride in 50° sunshine, I came home to make tea and relax; some music and honey laden Earl Gray. My phone opened to my email when I turned it on to search for music.  Uninhibited happy dance in the middle of the kitchen! Alice looked on in disbelief, “We just sang the Doggie Doggie Dinner Song so what’s up?”

Top of the list was a message from David Lord. The light on the path becomes a little brighter…

11 thoughts on “The Path

  1. ” Generations of hardworking people carving out a space so beautiful it seemed frozen in time.”
    This is so beautifully said. A legacy they would be surprised of.
    There is something that draws people to the the tactile – the feeling of fibers and weaving – tat must be an ancient memory buried in a human’s cells

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