Once Upon A Time . . .
. . . there was a master weaver who weaves many beautiful tapestries; tapestries that reflect life. The wise old man sits day after day, bent over his weaving, telling the story that needs to be told.
The tapestry started with two strong colors, one bolder than the other but both complimenting each other. Dark blue . . . strong, compassionate, adventurous and courageous, and bright red . . . passionate, daring, affectionate and enthusiastic. Both are bound by invisible vertical threads . . . the heart of the cloth. These are the three main threads that run through the entire length of the tapestry.
The master then, with a silver thread, sweeps through the cloth; a breeze that whispers throughout the piece, depicting their journey. Tinted pigments are twisted and woven reflecting the seasons of life; cool colors for tears, bright colors for joy; the hills and valleys they would encounter.
New colors; a variation of the blue and red, blossoms out, entwining themselves around them . . . beautiful colors symbolizing beautiful, unique children. Their bloom illuminates the cloth with the same traits of adventure, compassion, courage and love.
The master crowds the threads together, weaving them through the invisible, vertical threads . . . the heart.
Skilled hands unravel the rainbow; then with a touch of whimsy he magically weaves the hues into enchanting nymphs; grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Pastel colors, a bashful blush that mesmerize and captivates ones heat.
Great-grandparents now, the two strong colors still blaze on the tapestry, brightening the colors around them with their love.
The silver thread has whispered throughout the tapestry for sixty years. New colors and textures are added minute by minute; all bound by the invisible vertical threads.
The master is pleased how the story unfolds. He stops to appreciate his work. His fingers make a slow journey across the cloth. He feels the seasons, hears the laughter and feels the sorrow, the excitement of adventure and most of all; he feels the invisible thread that pulls the story together.
The invisible thread; the vertical threads that runs throughout the entire tapestry and pulls us all together, is called love.
A smile on his face, the old man picks up a new color and begins to weave.
The story continues . . .
I wrote this piece for my parent’s sixtieth anniversary a few years ago. I wanted to tell their love story in color. Their love produced seven children, twenty-one grandchildren seventeen great-grandchildren. Their love story continues to grow. I wrote this in old english script on paper that looked like aged parchment. It added a unique flavor to the piece.