The Wicker Gift

 

Wicker baskets, Wicker hats; Lay in dusty sunlight. That warmth of perfect harmony that sat by old lady Wilde’s window. She was the master of wicker furnishings; ones for your house or head. She made them well, with timeless tricks and secrets thrown in which were her own.

  

At each week’s end she went from her rural home to forum, the one by old man Flours; The man who rocked in his rocker chair, one from the wicker stew. She went along to the old man’s house by foot and horse pulled cart. Pulling along this week’s goodies, to the customers who knew her by nomen.

 

It was often on her travels to, that she found where the lovely flowers brew in abundance of radiance and glory. From here she choose the prim of specimen to place upon her week work’s trove, to grace it with a little more then her faded ribbons face.

 

Upon arrival old lady Wilde, would wave to old man Flours, and pause to show him her latest prize, the one she hoped not to sell, and yet would be the first to go. She showed him too, hats and small little dolls, and her works that took more then one day, the ones that seem to have taken for ever, and her craftiest of the bunch. He was pleased to be the first to see this talent’s creative genius in solid form. He always held a higher air after she left him, the first to see. And on her way back, she stopped and told him what she sold; so that his high placed smile brimmed at each good fortune in selling she made.

 

And so this pattern of life was made, and passed as each new season came. Of fortunes luck, the winters were so mild, that not a flake of snow flurried in, but simply stubborn rains that brought the tides so high, and washed out the flowers beds. It was at this time, that old lady Wilde’s walk, was cut to a mere monthly attraction. Her wicker works became more fantastic due to the little tell of time’s constriction. For weeks she worked on a single masterpiece, making it far too mighty to bring. As so she called in her young nephew, one with the great creator’s genes. This boy you see, would draw a perfect, majestic recreation of his aunt’s life work that was to impossible to bring. And that was what she would bring in order to sell that too.

 

The greatest though, of all her creations was definitely a controversy of the thousands, who got the gift to buy one irreplaceable work, that came from old Lady Wilde’s hands. The children cried that it was their toys, of wicker built, and a small delicate stature, while the woman called that their new hats were the fruits of that angels glorious work. To this the men said the contrary, demanding the furnishings the better. And a few more disagreed stating their paid for gifts of other types were the best of the miraculous bunch. So many held their own items with high glory, something old lady Wilde was glad of. So glad that some moon and starry nights were dawned, the memory of the gaily lit faces rekindled their sight within her minds eye; while a tear or two escape from her. It was God’s grace that had bestowed its self upon her. Not by her creative hands deft work, but by the happiness of all her patrons.

Author's Note

i hear that there is a miss spelled her as here within this... can someone tell me if you find it? please! <3