She works daily with her nimble hands created another desired tapestry.
People travel far and wide to buy the damsels designs.
She is given the finest thread, the best loom and praise.
But she tires of the weaving day in and and day out as she stares out the high tower window that she is imprisoned.
The dream weaver is cursed to live trapped high above for the ages. Her only portal to the real world is one lone window that looks out over the ocean.
She leans farther out every day to see the sea, the people while she day dreams
But she must work for people are waiting to place in their hands her art,
of lands she has never been ,of flowers that she only imagines, and of lovers that she spies upon in blurs along the sea shore. She weaves faster as tears hit the threads her hands once soft now tear and bleed as she struggles to push the loom forward once again. She places the piece in her lap to add more stories as the pin hits bone.
The dream weaver wraps herself into the fabric that she has needle pointed feathers. Behind the wings she hand stitched silver lined clouds and a glorious sunset. She stands now in the arch rock window and places her arms out to her side.
The wind blows now all around her and shoves her tapestry back clutched in her hands as she flies now grinning free now as a sea bird.
The villagers found only her tapestry washed upon the shore. Most say that she was drowned but there are a few that say she landed in the sea and swam to the beach. They say they have seen her walking the beach at night looking for her tapestry.