..each Wednesday Weekday and some Special, Sacred Saturdays, women would come
from far and wide to gather and meet in the cottage.
From many lands,
speaking many tongues, laden arms brought baskets overflowing with
treasures which enabled all to speak with one voice. No one ever knew who
would come, or what would be brought, but like the sands in an hourglass
the women filtered through the door. Sometimes alone, sometimes in twos or
threes. And having all journeyed from afar, it was agreed that when THEY
came to the cottage in the wood, all of them would be known as WE and US.
With a multitude of treasures WE would spin OUR yarns and tell OUR tales
and weave a rich tapestry of OUR lives. A history of times past, a legacy
for those lives and times yet to be. Over cups of tea and talk, the
tapestry was filled with laughter and even song, which frolicked and danced
through the wood. Sometimes sprinkled teardrops soaked throughout the
melody, enriching it with shared sorrows.
WE brought to the cottage a kaleidoscope of colours, hewn from the earth,
the seas and the skies. OUR treasures, ingrained with knowledge that
began with time, nurtured OUR souls and let OUR hearts soar to the
heavens. For you see, WE were wise women who had learned the ways of old.
The craft WE wove was as fine as mist and floated like gossamer. Threads
that glistened in the cool morning light, glowed in the rays of soft
moonlight. OUR work was woven both proud and strong, for the ties that
beheld US were the bonds of friendship.
As WE met upon each day and toiled upon OUR wheels and looms, the threads
of friendship grew strong and OUR tapestry became larger and more
beautiful. WE were united with OURselves. All was well within. The cottage
in the wood bespoke of song and solidarity. Until one day, an ill wind blew
across the land and ventured inside the cottage. Once therein it sought a
place to play, to stir and storm.
With barely a whisper it silently crept and saw the potential within. Here
was a place for pranks. In to the tapestry it flew. Ruffling some edges,
tangling some tassels and stirring behind a screen, a mischievous zephyr,
it kept the door just enough ajar to give it room to romp and flit in and
At first no one noticed the breeze which blew, and no one noticed the
severed thread or the tiny tangled speck. But as time went by the thread
unravelled, and soon upon the tapestry first a space then a hole and then a
cleft appeared that all could see. Quickened glances and darting feet
rushed here and there, but naught could find the end, or was it the
beginning WE should seek? There came confusion and then doubts began to
Could one of US have slipped the knot, warped the loom or plied a
path against the grain? Could WE have erred or made mistake and a tangled
web begot?? How could it be that where WE once sat together in the wood,
there now stood a room divided? WE folk with OUR lives and US over here,
while THEY and all of THEM watched from across the air.
So it was for many long days and nights as the discontent grew through the
open door. Where once glowed a welcome warmth from the winter chill, there
stood a tainted tapestry that no one wanted to see. A tattered frame upon a
tattered floor whose broken lines ran north and south as the wind whipped
up and down. And the warmth that glowed, but as a dying ember lay.
now to the cottage in the wood. Its magic was marred and the treasures
tarnished. The enchantment all but departed to the recesses of memories and
dreams. WE couldn't talk to THEM. THEY were no longer one of US. OUR
house was in disarray -friendship had fallen away!
The winter eased its grip and an early sun shone rays of light. Fresh buds
arose and stirred new life as the leaves whispered and the wood began to
shake. The crack upon the flow grows wide and deep but wisdom in a woman's
soul cannot long stay asleep.
"Wake up! Wake Up!" cried the magpie in the
wood. She called alone and she called aloud flying from tree to tree. And
landing upon the windowsill, she sang and sang for all the world to hear.
The days of old the threads we wove were pure and gold.
The thread that was light to hold and so bold.
A thread with fibres of life so fine - yours and mine.
It came to rest with thee and me and simply had to be.
Woven in a magic tapestry.
At last there came a few who knew the wild and raging storm must pass and
turned aside the cold, grey ash to find an ember small and weak. Still it
shone and raised a spark -it would not be gone!
So THEY came to seek the
calm and peaceful levity with which to find the thread and fix the broken
tapestry. If WE can show THEM the storm has passed, together WE can tend
the flame and fuel the hearth to once again spin OUR yarns and tell OUR
tales that weave the bonds that build OURselves.
And of the crack upon the floor? 'Tis nothing more than ill laid plans of
previous hands. When united WE sit in our cottage in the wood, there is
nothing THEY can do to cleave a bonded group in two. For you see it's never
too late to communicate!
(With permission: Fairy in the Dell)