Tying down the scarves

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Little Princess stopped knitting and looked outside her petite window. The ensuing silence threw a million tunes at her feet, begging her attention. The falling snowflakes created a new pattern on her freshly mowed lawn; like icing on a brown plum cake. Little Princess looked at her scarf. It was made of the finest silk on The Man's kingdom; a turquoise blue scarf with a dark blue conch shell pattern.

The conch shell. It was always the same. Every scarf she knit had a conch shell in it; as the design, as the shape or as the decoration beads on it. She never planned it that way but yet it was always there. And when she wrapped her neck with one of them, it was as if the conch shell was reading her a story; A story to forget the cold world outside and cuddle within oneself.

She had planned to stop knitting altogether. The Man was surprised but smiled just the same. Few weeks went by and the bundles remained undisturbed. The wind grew stronger, taunting not just the snow outside but the make-believe Ice Queen within Little Princess. And the knitting needles separated from their love-making, longed to run to each other.

As the snow twirled on Wind's arms, Little Princess' fingers fox-trotted on the easel. For every conch shell that was absent, there was a dodo on her canvas. And if she took up singing to painting, she knew she would sing just the ballads. Outside, the storm whispered its last minute goodbyes. And in the peace of her new white world, another beautiful soulful melody rose. That of the Conch shell.

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