If I were a quilt I would want to have been handmade by someone whose stitches weren't perfect, but were placed by hands whose touch imparted love.
I would of course like to be pink and white, but I would be faded and worn soft with frequent washings. I would smell just like sunshine from having dried on the clothesline.
There would be a few grass stains and one from some strawberries from picnic one summer.
I would know lover's secrets and a young girl's dreams. And sometimes I would be dampened by tears shed as someone knelt in desperate prayer beside the bed.
A sleeping baby would nap in my folds and later the grandchildren would use me for a tent. I would chase away the chills of a cold and protect from a sudden rain shower.
I would not be the quilt that was folded in the chest or displayed at the fair. I would never become an heirloom or prized antique.
My final days would be spent as remnants, a doll's blanket or even some place for the family pet to keep warm on a winter's night. And somewhere a very old woman would cherish a scrap that was all that was left of me as she remembered...
