Anna arrived to the door gaily, thinking about all she would say about "the Swing", and all she had learned about the painter, but those thoughts all fled her mind as she arrived opposite the door to find a note pinned on the door.
She was scared at first, as she approached the door, thinking it might be a note telling her to go away or that Elsa was not in her room, but when she reached it, and read the poem, she suddenly felt much more gleeful.
Elsa had listened! Anna now had proof that her sister was on the opposite side of the door and cared enough – if not to respond vocally – at least to give a small sign of her presence.
This poem would go in her treasure box, as soon as she reached her room. For now, she was very happen.
"Elsa" she said, the happy edge coming back to her voice as she knocked her signature knock on Elsa's door.
She couldn't see that Elsa was already seated, her back against the door, waiting for her to go on, but she believed that she would be.
"Elsa! Thank you for the poem! It's very nice! Thank you Elsa!" Anna decided not to destroy this moment, not to ask to build a snowman and face the possible disappointment she would feel – especially in her current state of euphoria.
On her side of the door, Elsa smiled. It was one of the only small things she could still do for her sister.
She had thrown away multiple attempts to write, in which the snow and the sky had played a much more prominent part, and others where names of authors and composers might have befuddled her sister.
"OK, so last time, I promised you I would tell you about 'the Swing'…" And Anna spent the next couple of hours speaking of art and her favorite pictures.
Elsa sat and listened, happy to hear her enthusiastic sister be enthusiastic again.
If you were wondering on the poem itself, here it is :
ART
The wind howls yet can form music
And music can help calm the wind.
The mind thinks and can make poems
which in turn help keep the mind at bay.
What is art if not music, poetry or paintings?
Is it the joy of life dancing, singing, living?
Is it a smile on the face of a stranger or a friend?
Is it something that helps calm the soul?
Is it the sky at night or during the day?
The towns, the people, the fields?
Is it a story, told in a million ways,
of fights, and friends and swords and shields…
To me, art is a friend,
a constant reminder of those we care about.
Elsa
AUTHOR'S NOTE : OK, I am no poet, I just figured I'd try to put Elsa's feelings about all forms of art into this poem. I tried to find inspirtation on the internet, but nothing really struck my fancy.
Hope you liked the prose…
Foxy the Sly