GIFT OF THE MOON
(C) Vickey Stamps 6/20/13
The great store stood proudly among it's counterpoints, in the great shopping mall. It stretched itself tall to the best of its limits, in the land of imagination, where all things live during different times of life. Inside, hundreds of fabric bolts preened themselves, and held discussions on which would be most desired this day. It was early yet, the sun having barely rose, never mind allowed its light within the store , to mingle with those artificial lights, which would be turned on in a few hours by the employee's.
Whole page ads in the very largely populated town and its suburbs newspapers, had traveled to news-stands and homes. Fabric lovers, male and female alike, had marked the stores grand opening upon their calendars, wanting to arrive early for the fabric sale at the new store. Each wanted to be first to look upon the array of color and texture of the materials. They would check both design and thread counts, comparing prices with others embedded in their minds from prior shopping. Many things would be offered, while not so much, the 'Long-Arm'.quilting machines which could be ordered, nor the domestic sewing machines, sitting on their own shelves among specialty and lesser scissors. The needles and threads had been given little if any consideration, in the grand opening sale. They sat quietly to themselves, barely raising a voice. they listened nonetheless to the conversations that drifted among them, daring not to shed so much as a tear, fearing rust in this place, where it could cost little but disaster.
The sun had risen, filling the day with warmth and hope, having wakened the flowers in the large pots that lined the mall's walkways and casting a welcome warmth upon those that crowded the window front of the large store. A manager opened the door, and the eager people rushed in, scattering like ants to a sweet picnic, and to the fabrics that waited for their touch. What a day it became, with bolts pulled from their shelves and tables, caressed sometimes, hugged to some chests, and fallen in love with by others as well. The fabrics, in their own land of imagination, peeked within the minds of those that came to see them, envisioning how they would speak to them and tell them of all they would become, of how what their design might become. Perhaps the finished product would become a masterpiece quilt one day in the future. Into many bags the fabrics had gone, carefully exclaimed over by both customer and employee. They would soon go to a new home.
Dusk greeted the sidewalks, kissing them and the flowers good-night sweetly. The clerks within the store counted out the cash drawers, locking them securely for the night, before gathering themselves together and gooing to their houses to rest for another day. The sale had gone well. The fabric's were exhausted and eager to rest now. Their voices this night were barely heard, as they whispered a good - night to one another, too weary to even notice the needles and threads, in their own small area. The fabrics drifted off to sleep.
The moon moved in a slow and graceful manner, seeming to be needed .... within the the fabric store of the shopping mall. The mall was now darkened except for streetlights lining in part its walkways. Now it shone upon and within the fabric store, and in large part upon the cutting table, standing on its multi-legs near the needles and threads. They had fallen into a light sleep, but now woke and become alert, stretching out a hand of welcome to the light focusing upon them. In its own selection, sat colorful books, that .... like the needles and threads, had been neglected, to a lesser extent, and now welcomed the attention of the moonlight. A circle of light lay all about as if smiling upon them, carrying a strange warmth into the cool of the night. The letters scampered off the pages, leaving the books pictures behind, happily making their way to the very large cutting table. Having reached that goal, the letters became words and the words became instruments. There were large upright Chello's, drums, guitars, trumpets, trombones, a grand piano and even a Stradivarius Violin. Some letters formedh lettered musicians knowledgeable in the use of each instrument. The magic of it all would never be forgotten as music filled the air. A large cone of variegated gold's and brown threads, made its way to another cone of white with silver metallic strands mixed into its fiber. "You are so handsome in your jacket" the silver thread spoke, having been asked for the pleasure of her company for a dance, by the variegated thread, and having been told how beautiful she was. Now they joined thread arms, doing a ballroom dance, and calling out to the others to join them upon the cutting table, as well as other now empty spaces. Needles of varied size and purpose, left their packaging and soon were seen to be resting upon, or against pin-cushions, now edging the cutting table turned dance floor. A short tiny eyed needle did a rousing polka dance with a tapestry needle, and a Madeira thread did a 'hoe-down' with a Sulky thread, cheered on by a Superior branded thread, contented to be supportive. Ballpoint styled needles and glass-headed straight pens circled around, holding hands, dancing on needled legs as a Chopin and Mozart medley's finished themselves. Beethoven's Fifth symphony played the segment that had become the Lone Ranger's show's theme for the old series. Now they stopped, as if expecting someone to say "Who was that Masked Man?." And so in this land of stretched imagination, the dance continued with occasional dancing of thread and needle together. It was a grand time for all, spectator and dancers alike.
The moon had held itself in place for a very long time and become weary. It winked a good-by, letting the letters, turned words, turned instruments and become for musicians a warning that the dance must come to an end. The notes now played "Good-night, Irene. Good-night Irene. I'll see you in my dreams.". Needles, threads and letters waved good-night to each other, settling into their original places. The letters went back into their books, whispering a gentle good-night to the illustrations. All were weary and welcomed that rest ahead, waiting in the hours before daylight. It had been a night none of them would ever forget. They were grateful for the gift of love given by the moon.
LIFE WAS GOOD