I was thinking of a moment in time.
A longing, a memory.
Then I found it, here.
A chance re-visit.
Not a common thing.
But this is where I was, back in time, through a portal.
It was calling my name.
Will you venture with me again?
Captured by a curious tale, swirling amongst rose flavored warm breezes, in a dream…
The tale unfolded……..
She was beautiful, long locks of wavy hair touched the back of her knees…
In her soul, in her being, she felt endless…
Magical…
Filled with wonderment.
But in the mirror…
In the mirror she saw tattered lines of years and years of age.
Lovely all the same.
Her mind was bursting with wisdom, stories untold, earth shattering loves lost…
Her fingers could do anything.
They created, they led the way.
The mirror tried to shatter the depth of her being – her feelings of youth with arms outstretched in twirls.
In her soul, she felt perfectly young.
Beautiful, free…
Alas, time told a different tale.
She made a decision one day.
She would travel forever more, mending her soul, adding pieces of lost magic…
She saw her best friend, a machine, as shiny and new.
Just like she felt inside…
She made a pact with her own heart.
Sealed it with golden thread on a sunny warm day.
She would go from place to place…
Long lost love letters, keys to all the drawers of secrets in her soul and wonderment aplenty accompanied her on her long never-ending journey…
Bits of lace aged as well.
But still were beautiful.
She decided she was an old piece of tattered lace herself.
And so, the journey began…
For years and years and years she wore the same gown…
Adding…
Repairing…
Captured, in a Dream…
Washing…
Embellishing.
Year after year after year she added pieces to her gown, which by now trailed behind her down the road, as she pulled her old sewing machine on a wooden wagon.
Every year the machine seemed heavier.
But, she forged on.
Through forests…
Up steep wooded hills, across streams…
She worked on her gown tirelessly.
Each piece that was sewed on, was like capturing dust particles of magic.
She was holding onto her magic for dear life.
To the burn in her belly which set her on fire for living.
To that inner magic, which kept her young and free and dreaming –
No matter what the mirror tried to say.
She believed.
And, she refused to let go.
Life tried so many times to take away everything that made her sparkly inside and out.
When a piece fell off,
she simply sewed it back on.
Collections of bits and pieces from everywhere adorned her gown.
Tea stained, torn –
Yet beautiful.
She pedaled and pedaled as the machine sewed along…
The sound of stitches going through fabric made her drink in a deep breath of fresh air.
A heavy sigh of thank goodness filled her.
It was always a reminder, that she was still everything she saw herself as in the depths of her mind’s eye.
Young forever.
She held tight to that key…
Ribbons of youth poured out of her, and people caught them as she walked by.
For a moment, they felt a jolt.
A memory of being ever so young.
So free.
Of believing anything was possible.
Of seeing life as long and blurred, but filled with excitement and goodness to come.
Endless goodness.
As the people who caught her ribbons felt it –
They remembered…
The years when you couldn’t feel your body.
When no ache or pain graced you at all.
When your heart was untainted.
When you felt love for life, instead of frustration and fear.
And they followed her…
Begging for a patch of magic here and there…
Longing to be mended as well.
And so, she mended them too.
But mostly, she mended herself.
Each piece of that long tattered gown, held together by the threads of time.
When even time was young.
And….
When she found herself deeply hurt and falling –
When she faced things that the golden threads could simply not hold together…
That was when would seal her wounds with glitter…
As warm breezes of flower petals enveloped her.
That is when she remembered who she was.
Who she always would be.
Beautiful, free, arms outstretched twirling in the wind forever.
Lines of time, no matter………
True to one for always.
Caretaker of a heart belonging to the most important person in her life.
Herself.
This is such a beautiful post, there are no words…
I think we all are a little tattered, torn…threadbare around the seems.
Love the images and the old sewing machine~she is a beauty!!
Dear Vanessa,Your poem is beautiful and so full of wisdom.How can such a young Woman be so insightful to growing old.I do still see the young Woman in the mirror and wonder when did She get so old.
Ain’t that right Ms. V…young at heart forever! I love it. And…I miss you 🙂 It’s been too long! I need to visit more often because you’re always a breath of fresh air. Love the ol’ Singer too 😉
Lots of love,
Jamie 🙂
This is so beautiful it made me cry.
love & blessings
~*~
This is a truly beautiful and inspiring story, thank you!
I still love old things that are a little tattered! I am sewing things together at the moment! I sewed some tattered old lace from an old skirt onto a dress a while back, the picture will go up eventually once I get all the other posts I have to do! 🙂
I’m going to leave this post up all day to read again and again! Just the inspiration I need right now! And please stop by to peek at my blog today for some tea party MAGIC! Sweet hugs, Diane
This is beautiful. Captures the essence of aging and how we constantly repair. xo Laura
I loved this post. It reminded me of my Grandmother, my Mother, me, my Daughter and my Granddaughter. How what we are and where we come from flows on forever. Exquisitely bittersweet.
Joyous tears! Love this. Love this. Vanessa, You are such a gifted storyteller!!
What a beautiful story that reminds me that youth is in everyone if they are only willing to embrace it. Even at the ripe old age of 22 I feel the way the girl in the story did somedays. Tired, worn out, bags under my eyes. Then I pick up a paint brush, blog a little bit, play dress up and there I am sealing my very own wounds with glitter. What a beautiful idea that is. I think that is something I have tried to do in my life, and will continue to do. Every wound is a new place of eternal sparkle, a place that I have transformed from pain into a magical spark. Thank you Vanessa, what an amazing lesson.
Wow . . . just . . . wow.
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Beautifully done post. Thanks, Miss V!
all of these moments coming to pass,
lace like sea foam with dreams dancing past.
glitter, ribbon and fabrics of time,
unfolding our hearts lifetime of rhymes.
Oh my gosh, this is gorgeous! Love the fantasy, the photographs. . .really feeds the imagination. Just gorgeous!
A true fairytale <3
You weave the most magical stories.
I love that old Singer machine.
Love your magical story. Made me want one of the ribbons for myself 🙂
Beautiful, Vanessa… So true. We all have the same feelings, the same stories in us, don’t we? The telling is unique for each, but the heart of the tale is the same.
(Life used to be effortless, didn’t it?)
Hugs,
Myself and the Furs…Anne
<3 So beautiful. Thank you. I needed this today. <3
It was very interesting to have such a tale come my way, I was seeing it
from the perspective of a very old woman, almost fairy tale like…with a
reminder of all the women I used to do pottery with who were so much older than
me, but their 16 year old selves shined through always, no matter what. I
loved that about them.
And yet as she mended her own heart she also mended those who followed after her…what a beautiful tale of never giving up, but always moving forward and seeing the best in every situation.
My Fanciful Friendling, I do believe you should put this into a book so we can each have our own copy…and dream!
Much love to you my friend!
Coricakes
Vanessa, what a beautiful story. Being in my early sixties I can really relate to the woman. I remember vividly what it was like not to be so aware of my body, to be able to move freely and oh-so-quickly. Sometimes I catch glimpses of her…that young self as she travels so fast down the stairs of my cottage before me or up the many steps to my studio. Sometimes I hear, “Hurry up! What’s the matter with you?” but she’s gone before I can answer. I know I will become her again someday, on the other side of that door that we all must go through sooner or later…
Thank you again for such a lovely story.
Blessings,
Victoria
You should write a book of stories 🙂
Sometimes I come across something or someone so beautiful that all I can think is “I love you”. It can be quite startling for both myself and the object of my fascination, but reading your post and looking at your pictures, those words just blazed out of my mind. Maybe it’s a connection of souls tipping their hats at one another in polite acknowledgment of their kinship. Your blog is so radiant and lovely. Thank you for existing.
Beautiful!!! I have to say, it brought a tear to my eyes too.
I know some people might think I’m immature, but not me!
I’ve had enough hard times in my life where I had to step up & be very mature even at an early age.
I’m more of a free spirit & young at heart! Why do some people think when we reach a certain age we have to become old & boring! I say, you’re as young as you feel!
It’s funny, as I get older, people will probably think of me as a crazy old lady, maybe a bit daft instead of immature!
Bring it on!!! I’m finally learning to appreciate all that is Me!
Thanks for the great post!
Thank you, Vanessa.
(((Hugs)))
Oh Vanessa, that brought a little tear to my eye. So beautiful and poignant.
Lady V, This is so beautiful. I can see you doing illustrations to go along with this lovely story.