Loom
Finishing his swim, he bent down and picked up his shirt. The well-worn linen felt soft in his hands. Grinning, he fingered it lightly, almost caressing it as he contemplated its history. A woman had most likely woven it upon a large loom, a woman with deft fingers creating the fabric. A fine piece it was, with many memories as he stared at the many rents and tears. He noticed it was starting to fray on one sleeve. A pity he thought, unless… He looked towards the town ahead. Perhaps she still did live here.