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The Weaver's Daughter
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A Fable written for the CBC 'Fable' Challenge which incorporates much of my own private philosophy.
Creative Commons license
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Charts
Peak #6
Peak in subgenre #1
Author
Larry Ludwick
Rights
Larry Ludwick 2013
Uploaded
August 16, 2013
MP3
MP3 17.5 MB, 320 kbps, 7:38
Lyrics
There once was a Weaver who had a daughter from a union with a fairy maid. At least, he thought she was from that union, but he actually found her in a reed basket at his doorstep several months after their joining. No matter from whom she sprang, he took her in and raised her as his own. Even when she was an infant barely able to crawl, he had to be cautious because at any chance, in her delight, she would try to crawl off into the surrounding woods. Even then she was obedient and satisfied to linger in the garden, not as much smelling the various flowers, but as if communing with them in some deeper manner. When she reached the age where she might be sent off to school, the weaver decided rather to teach her his skills so that she might be a help mate. He had no other family and he found she filled a lonely void he had felt before her arrival. He was amazed as the lessons began because not only did she learn, but she surpassed each of the skills such that you would suspect she was the teacher and he was the pupil. Soon he stopped his own weaving and allowed her to produce marvels of color and brilliance while he acted as the vendor to the neighboring villages. He became known for the craftsmanship that he actually passed off as his own. This was not to deny his daughter, but more to keep her hidden from the authorities who might question her origin or want to remove his guardianship. All was content as she grew, but as she neared adulthood, she spent more and more time away from the spindle and loom to roam the glorious woods and hills near their homestead. He did not fear her discovery for they were in an isolated region, but he found he had come to depend entirely on her artistry to grow his amassing wealth. She, at first, assented to his desire that she stay at home longer, but soon enough she was off again wandering for longer periods of time. The woods seemed more a home to her than her own cottage and mill where she had grown up. His income dwindled due to these lapses of work. We was not poor but had grown accustomed to his wealth. In a form of desperation one day, he locked her in the mill tower so that she might finish her work before wandering off. Soon, he locked her in the tower and did not allow her to leave. His daughter never grew angry but asked to be released to the fields and streams which were her true nourishment. However, the weaver grew deaf and blind to her requests. He only heard the clatter of gold coins. He only saw the tapestries and stunning cloth as if his due for sheltering his daughter. In a short time, there was a change because although she produced works of beauty, the colors became darker. The weaves became tighter with areas that no longer produced delight especially in the light of the setting sun. Indeed, each evening as the sun set, the weaver spied his daughter at the small tower window looking out over the stream and forest. At those times, he felt ashamed at what he had done, but returning to his cottage, the evening counting of the coins wiped such thoughts from his mind. Very late one evening, he thought he heard sobbing from the tower even though it was faint. He took a candle and climbed the stairs feeling a pang of his old guilt. He entered the tower room and looking on the nearest chair, he saw a tapestry of incredible colors. There were forest scenes with animals running freely and birds flying in a bright sky. But his daughter sobbed quietly sitting on the edge of her bed. On her lap was a large sable cloth which, despite its ebon color, held its own dark beauty, or it might be better to say, its own mystery. He looked to his daughter and asked, “What is this cloth that brings you such distress and why have you woven it?” She answered through her sobs, “Oh father, it is your winding sheet to protect you in the passage to the other world.” With that the weaver sank to the ground without a whimper or a sigh and passed away. His daughter rose up and placed the s
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