When I was little I had this scarf. There were strange squiggly patterns knitted in shades of blue and gray with a red silk ribbon woven through. I was so attached to that scarf; everywhere I went, it trailed along with me. Apart from the fact that it kept me warm and was my security blanket of sorts, I was fascinated by the patterns on it. I would sometimes stare at it for so long that when I close my eyes I could see those squiggles dancing in my mind.
But what intrigued me the most was the red silk ribbon. The blue-gray wool faded after many a wash but the red ribbon always stayed brilliant, shiny and smooth. Dramatic lines of color running through an otherwise drab scarf. I remember long cold drives with the scarf wrapped around me and in the darkness of the backseat, I would pick at the threads till I found the red ribbon lines. They were my source of comfort, my little feel of magic.
Now I’m all grown up but it seems to me that I’m still feeling in the dark, looking for those red silk weaves. My days now seem to be the blue-gray scarf, with patterns that I don’t quite understand. And then there are those beautiful days when I’m with him…just for a little while. These days have become my red silk ribbons, the magical lines of color running through my week.