he holds, in life, no great commission. he mends what is not quite torn. he tightens what is not quite loose. he is the friend you call when a thing has begun, only slightly, to come apart. he is not a worker of miracles, only of small adjustments.
in his honour, the drawer of thimbles remains warm even on cold days. a thimble set on the windowsill is, by tradition, his. it may be borrowed, but should be returned by evening, with thanks.
he is sometimes invoked by people who have noticed, quietly, that something in themselves is no longer holding — a hinge of patience, a seam of belief. he asks no large repair. he asks for one stitch, today; another tomorrow.
— small-repair, hold the seam until i can.
see also: st. of mended laces, the small ritual of the repair, the kitchen where most of his work is done.