And that's another Story

 

 

It's one of those nights when the ability to put words together goes out the window. So I'll leave you with the most recent "Story Dolls", where the story was written several days ago. It's entittled "Mariana and the Sparrow" - with two little ladies made in the series.. in two different colourways. 

 

 

 

Picture a city, buildings of concrete, perhaps a few sad looking trees along the sidewalk. Cars race by, rushing to be somewhere else, people talk on their mobile phones, oblivious to everything around them. In this city, people desire money, objects, the latest gadget. Even the trees no longer dream of forests.

Now imagine an Autumn day, Winter's chill already in the air. People pulling coats of grey and black a little tighter. There is an old lady making her way slowly to a corner newspaper stand. For many years, she has taught young minds in school, trying to harness imagination, independant thought and the power to dream. Some of her students have gone on to be great artists, musicians, writers, doctors.. but so many more have been swallowed up in grey office bulidings. Paying for her paper, she notices a sparrow on the ground, desperately trying to avoid the footfalls around it. It trails a broken wing and can not fly. With trembling hands, the old woman picks it up and cradles it to her chest. A laugh from the newspaper man, as he tells her, she is crazy for wanting to save something so common and worthless. Perhaps, she says.

In her small apartment, the old woman carefully cleans and dresses the sparrow's broken wing, setting a tiny splint on the broken wing. She lives alone, so there is no one to mock or support her. In the small window box of sleeping flowers, she makes the sparrow a nest.

Months pass, with the chills of winter making the people of the city greyer and bitter. But for the old lady it is a time of joy, as she talks to her little sparrow companion, working the wing slowly. Everynight her sleep begins to bring the most wonderful of dreams.... music, dancing, laughter, and she is happy.

Spring makes it's way into the city, and the old woman's sleeping flowers start to wake: roses - the petals soft and pink with the sweetest scent. She knows it is time to let the little sparrow fly away and as she opens the windows, silver tears roll down her wrinkled cheeks. Time to say goodbye. The sparrow cock it's head to one side, then the other, as sparrows do, but rather than fly it casts itself down to the ground. Instead of a drab sparrow, there stands a tall, handsome young man.

" I am the King of Dreams", he tells her, "cursed by a wicked witch and sent to your world. I could only be free when someone saw the value of my life. Come be my Queen"
The old woman, shook her head in amazement, no no, no, how could someone as old as her be queen to such a man. As he took her hand, the years fell away from her and she stood, as the beautiful young woman she had been.
"Just as you saw my true heart", smiled the King, "so I have always seen yours"

At that moment, it was as if the entire city was carpeted in the pink roses from the window box. Their scent filled the city with a perfume of happiness and contentment. People stopped and remembered a treasured moment from childhood, a musician wrote a song that inspired a generation. An artist painted a picture that brought gladness to the hearts of others, a doctor found a cure for a terrible disease, and a politician worked for the common good of all.
It's a good dream - isn't it?


 

 

Tales from The Snow Queen's Garden

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