The Dreamweaver
I once knew a dreamweaver who lived in the wood. I asked her to make a dream catcher as loooooong as she could. As long as the river and the sky above. To protect all the dreamers as they fly along. It was made out of yarn and ribbons and string, and bundled up with beads and feathers and things.
It flowed down through rivers and into little streams. It graced many a dreamers on their journey through dreams. It held to the skies where is stayed strong and stable. It flowed through crying eyes washing away nightmares it couldn't disable.
It wove the webs of destiny quietly, emphatically, and in time... in time everything made sense. Every river began to flow against the currents of the yarns, and the fibers of the strings, as if they were always meant to be. The beads rattled as they counted down the months, and the feathers pointed towards directions, and worked as hands on clocks. Protrudes, I suppose, of our mere destiny. Or a symbol of the sun peaking out through the trees, a reminder of the bounty that weaves, and her undying protection. Her protection, and her love.
