The Seamstress and The Scissors

It was long ago, when forests stretched through plentiful valleys and the stars were knit through the night sky as if woven by Mother Nature herself, that a small house rested high on the cliffsides looking no bigger than the eye of a needle. It just so happened, that house belonged to a family of tailors including a young, but very talented seamstress named Maria.

And it is with Maria that our story begins.

On their tiny claim of earth, carved into the steppe of the mountain side, Maria would watch her family’s sheep plod along, the tangles of the long grass grazing against the bottoms of their soft bellies. Her father had always said it was an important job, watching the sheep, but Maria had a suspicious inkling it was most likely because she was the youngest and it kept her out of the way.

Inside the house, her family would scurry from place to place, dressing customers in the marvelous fabrics they would bring, while Maria watched from the stable step far across the field. It was on occasion Maria was invited to help stitch, but it was usually after her grandmother had gone to bed and only on the undercoats of dresses.

Yet, it mattered little to Maria as she neither wished to manage the sheep or spend endless hours stitching hems. For while her family was rushing from place to place, Maria got to dream. From dawn to dusk and into the late hours, Maria dreamt, her thoughts always circling back to what she truly desired.

Many a night, Maria would lay out her window, the crisp mountain air pulling at the loose strands of her cascading braid and watch as the small village nestled in the valley came to life, an ember warming the depths of the thick jungle brush.

She had heard of the festivals of the valley, the place where people went to dance and eat and wear beautiful garments, but she had never had the chance to go nor a dress to wear. How Maria wished to wear a dress with such life that people would whisper about the lively young woman adorned in the beautiful spinning colors and dance to every song the musicians would play.

Yet, the young seamstress had but scraps to spare, and if any was money from the family was left, it went to needs of the family over the wants of Maria. And so, day after day, Maria would tend to the sheep wishing but two things – to wear a magnificent dress and to dance late into the night.

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It was on one summer day that Maria’s parents requested she fetch their new lot of fabric, and so after harnessing the family donkey, Maria began the long day’s trek down the mountain path into the valley. For to make the journey meant she would get to see the new fabric before anyone else, but it came with the price of knowing none of it would be hers to keep.

As Maria listened to the sprinkles of the eroding cliff under the donkey’s hooves, her bittersweet emotions seeped into her thoughts. Even he, adorned with his woven saddle blanket, was decorated with more color than she had gotten to wear even in her youth. Maria had been gifted with nothing more than the hand me down dresses her sister had worn, along with their splitting seams her mother had fixed on several occasions. Just once, she wished to keep one of the fabrics all her own and make a dress unlike anything the world had ever seen.

After about a half day’s walk, Maria stepped into the village center. With so much commotion, they must have been preparing for the village festival the following night. Maria sighed. It was always as if she was a day too early or a day too late, but it mattered naught as she had nothing wear, and so Maria convinced herself it was a blessing in disguise. Or at least she attempted to.

As Maria opened the door into the fabric shop, the colors and textures of her surroundings couldn’t help but indulge her senses. There were fabrics stacked high and tucked into every inch – some rolled, others folded, bolts spilling out of barrels and more heaped inside large woven baskets. Soft and smooth, bulky and warm, they were all just waiting to be chosen and crafted.

Maria picked up a swatch of a light pink floral that had been tossed into a corner grazing her thumb across the fragile pattern. How she wished to make a dress with such exquisite fabric, the softness spilling through her hands far more delicate and decorated than her rough, woven clothes that framed her more than she framed them.

Alas, those feelings would have to wait. Like the many of the prior trips, her stack sat neatly on the counter, bundled with paper and twine. After checking each piece and haggling the price, Maria tied the fabrics to the donkey’s saddle just as her father had shown her years before. For to lose a piece of fabric was as bad as losing a sheep, and if it had been a particularly expensive piece, it was as bad as losing the whole flock.

Certain the stack was tight, Maria stepped back into the street, donkey in tow, only to stop. There by her foot, lay a bundle of the most vibrant green fabric Maria had ever seen. There was no way the fabric could have been a part of her stack, for she had checked each piece individually and tied them down with much care. Maria lifted it from the dust and patted it off.

With the tiny cross-weave and smoothness of material, even half of the amount would have cost more than her whole purchase. Maria evaluated the number of folds and how the material fell. There was about the amount for a dress. It would be tight, but it could work.

Maria’s heart skipped a beat. Who was she kidding? This fabric was not hers, and someone would definitely come looking for it. Maria scanned the street until her eyes settled on an older woman, completely unaware she was gripping a basket with a waterfall of fabric lightly dragging in the dirt. After a few steps in the opposite direction and a pleasant conversation, Maria confirmed she had found the owner of the stunning material.

The woman, grateful for Maria’s integrity, smiled. Taking the fallen swatch with a fragile grip, the woman tucked it into the depths of her rattan basket, and after a moment of rummaging through folds of cloth, lifted a worn pair of scissors and placed them into Maria’s hands. Entranced by the tarnished handles and heavy blades, Maria hardly knew what to think of the gift.

“My dear, these will cut whatever you desire to use for material, but be warned, we humans should never own the world we live in. We will forget our place in the balance of life, and what we yearn to hold so tightly will disappear forever.”

By the time Maria had registered the cautionary words and lifted her head to ask a question, the woman had vanished from her sight.

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Maria lingered as she headed toward the winding cliffside path, her thoughts far beyond the reach of the physical world. The lady had said humans should not own nature, but what if she borrowed it? It would just be for the next day and then she’d give it right back. Just long enough to dance at the festival.

Maria flipped the scissors between her hands. She didn’t think it would be too much of a deal, not if she returned it when she was done. So, with that settled, Maria considered the next big question left to be answered: what would Maria use to make her dress?

Perhaps she should cut the water of the river? Its delicate froth clinging to the edges of her hem while the ripples caught the light that fell on its hurried wave would make a stunning choice. Or maybe she should wait and take a sliver of the dazzling gems that sparkled against the black sky as the moon rose high into its voided depth. Yet, neither of these captured the vibrant energy Maria craved to tame.

The tip of the flickering fire? The rustling leaves of the tall jungle canopy? The alternating veins of blue, white, and brown rock that nestled layered in the cliffside by the river?

But as she crested the foothill, Maria realized there was no decision to be made. Her gaze could not be broken from the beauty as she slipped the pair of scissors into her palm and began to snip.

And as she cut, the sunset fell from the sky.

Maria could feel the life beneath her fingers, as if the clouds danced from within the weaves. The exuberant reds flickering as if the sky had been set aflame. The richness of yellows spilling from the sun’s golden rays and the violet blue of night playing its gentle melody to seduce the passionate day into a slumber.

Yes, she Maria, would make a dress from the sunset.

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With haste, Maria returned home and started to stitch. One after another, she mated the pieces of the sky feeling the life pulse through them. What a dress this would be. Maria worked through the night, constructing first the undercoats, then the outer skirts, working her way to the top and frill of the neckline. Each stitch placed with care, as if the seams were sealed with magic. Yet, as she attached each piece of the garment, Maria knew something was missing.

With a scrunch of her nose and tilt of her head, she pondered. The embroidery. How could she have forgotten. She threaded the needle debating the design. So many of the dresses had flowers, but Maria wanted the design to be different, to stand out. She pursed her lips thinking. A bird. She would embroider a macaw. It seemed only fitting that for a dress made of the sky would have birds to fly through it.

And as she added the last few birds sitting along her hem, Maria’s masterpiece was complete.

Maria slipped the dress over her figure. Never had a garment cascaded down her body, tenderly tracing her bodice, before cupping her hips and flowing out majestically across the floor. With each little movement, the dress trailed, making each step softer. With every spin, it snapped, as if celebrating the spice that the vibrant colors added to life.

Maria could barely harness the pride she felt for having created such a dress, but it was the excitement from its beauty that numbed her to the rest of her surroundings.

As her emotions muted to the back of her mind, Maria realized she worked so hard she failed to notice the day had already begun. Carefully, Maria removed her dress piece by piece and draped it over the end of her bed. Finally, the day had come when she would dance at the festival and in a dress unparalleled to those around her.

Maria left only for a few moments to move the sheep to the pasture, but when she returned, her dress had turned a deep charcoal as if it were only a silhouette of her once vibrant masterpiece.

Yet to further her surprise, there perched on her chair sat a macaw more beautiful that any she had seen lurking in the branches of the jungle canopies below. Its scarlet wings were a ferocious red, decorated with hints of yellow across its back and a blue of the ocean painting the tips of its tail.

Almost as tall as the chair itself, the scarlet macaw clicked its talons across the top rail, its tail feathers dipping low to just above the top of the seat. The bird gazed toward the window, but as Maria knew, it was not a misguided glance, but yearning to return to the hole slashed through the sky.

“But I must wear my dress to the festival,” she pleaded to the bird, “It will only be for the day.”

The scarlet macaw blinked twice, as if pausing to think, before lowering its head in acceptance. With a few gentle flaps, the macaw landed on the shadow of a dress and slowly disappeared, melting into the weaves beneath its talons. Maria lifted the dress, inspecting its restored colors, only to find the embroidered birds she had stitched the previous day were no longer sitting, but were with wings outstretched flying along her hem.

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The festival surpassed Maria’s dreams before she had even taken three steps. Happiness poured from every opening with flowers spilling from cracks of rock walls to the hot spiced steam venting from fried dough, but most of all, happiness poured from the courtyard of dancing.

The colorful music paired with phenomenal dresses took Maria’s breath away. Each dancing pair with their intricate steps moved to the harmonious melodies all ending in a boisterous clapping of appreciation. To say Maria had found her place was an understatement and it was then, her moment had arrived.

Silence swept through the crowd as Maria entered the ring of dresses, clasping the hand of the young man who had extended it. Her breath caught lightly, for fear tickled at the base of her spine, but with the start of the music, Maria melted and let the life of the world pull her along.

And as she twirled the warmth of day and the cool of night, energy spilled from the hems of her skirt showering onlookers with awe and envy. Never had people seen the beauty of Maria’s dress, and never had Maria felt more full of life. Song after song, she spun and smiled, laughing with the satisfaction that there was so much more than the simple world she’d known.

By the time the lights dimmed, and the sounds of the thick jungle underbrush overpowered the lingering songs, it was rumored among every lip in the village and ear in the valley, that there was no finer seamstress than the young Maria. For it was said she could stitch with the delicacy of the tall meadows, fit a figure by the pull of the wind, and even cut the sunset from the sky.

Returning home, Maria shed the delicate layers enamored with the energy of the evening. How she loved the dancing and how the people loved her dress. The whole village talking about her, Maria, the finest seamstress of the valley. Collapsing on her bed, she replayed each twirl, and by the time the macaw pulled itself from each stitch in the dress, Maria had fallen fast asleep.

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As the morning began to break, the sky shifted from dark to light, but no longer did the gentle hue of daylight tiptoe to replace the night. The world snapped awake, sun shining through the cracks in Maria’s shutter as if she had slept well into the afternoon.

Through squinting and confusion, she gandered into the brightness. The sheep remained tucked in their lean-to of a barn, and the chickens had not yet begun wandering in the grass as the rooster had not crowed. The morning was in fact just beginning.

It was then Maria realized the blending of dusk and dawn, a cycle as natural as the earth itself, had completely broken in two. No, it had not broken. It had been cut.

She turned, knowing what she needed to do, but her eye caught something in the distance. A small bobbing dot, which much like the sounds that came with it, began to grow. Voices echoed through the morning air, along with the cacophony of carts, donkeys, and energetic children scattering in all directions across the narrow mountain path. Lines of people were parading toward their small family house, hands overflowing with the finest fabrics their valley could muster. All coming to be tailored by the young Maria.

Maria jumped away from her window, throwing on her everyday clothes as fast as she could without catching a toe or smacking a finger. They had all come because of her. She had almost left to meet them when a quiet squawk pulled her attention. The scarlet macaw patted its feet and jumped to the chair, angling itself toward the window. The people of the valley had not only come because of her, but because of her dress. Her sunset dress brought to life by the bird.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go just yet,” Maria said to the macaw. “You have brought much success to our home.” The bird sat there, blinking, as if trying to understand. Hoping it would, Maria finished pulling on her woolen socks and with a soft click of her door, left her room and the scarlet macaw.

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And for a day, the world was different. Maria had never pinned so many skirts, or measured so many pants, the swirl of fabrics enveloping her in every angle she turned. Maria’s family beamed at the success their daughter had brought them, thrilled by the countless families who poured through their door. With all this business, her family hardly had to worry for the next year, maybe even two.

Even with all the fittings leaving little time for rest, Maria overflowed with excitement. No longer would she have to watch the flocks or work endless hours stitching late into the night and best of all, she would have lots of beautiful dresses in which she could dance. To Maria, the world was as perfect as it could be.

Yet, as the day continued, there was no gradual sinking of the sun, and as Maria watched it burn high above the horizon, the warning of the woman began to seep into her thoughts. Could there really be truth to what she had said?

Maria continued to drape dresses and match seams, but with each pin, her gut wound tighter with worry. Perhaps it was best to let the bird go…

By the time the day should have slipped behind the night, the world was as bright as it had begun. Guilt gripped Maria as she kept wishing to see an ounce of color paint the sky. But why would it when she had locked the sunset away? Customers still piled in their small home, but maybe she could slip away for a second to check the delicate creature she had left so many hours ago.

Maria creaked the door open and shut with masterful ease as to not to let sight of the bird escape to the villagers. She could not imagine what they would do if they saw the hypnotic color of its scarlet wings.

But in turning to the bird, tears pooled in her eyes. As if weakened by sadness, its talons no longer snapped against the chair back, and its once vibrant feathers had begun to fall, pooling in a dull puddle across the floor. With glossy eyes of sorrow, the bird blinked once at Maria and returned its stare toward the window, a freedom so close, yet unreachable.

Her skilled fingers sat limp in her gaze asking forgiveness for what they had caged. As the woman had cautioned, nature was not meant to be owned by humans.

“I must set you free.”

Maria reached for the iron latch fastened against the peeling paint of the shutters, but the opening snap of her door stole her attention. What was intended a simple question from her sister brought silence across the house.

Within seconds, family and townsfolk alike became entranced by the scarlet macaw confined inside the four simple walls of Maria’s bedroom.

“What a magnificent creature…” Her sister gasped, mesmerized by its presence.

Maria looked at the grieving bird, knowing how its vibrant beauty had faded and that she was to blame. Yet, from the expressions of others, it was clear the bird’s woes were hardly top of mind.

For they did not notice how its sadness dulled its feathers or its desire to turn to the sky, only recognizing their need to grasp and hold such beauty. They would make the same mistake as she had except no one would be there to warn them. Maria looked at the dress and then the bird. Never again would she dance in the sunset if she kept them together.

Another simple mumble escaped the whispered awe, rising just loud enough to hear.

“If only I could have a feather…”

And in an exchange of glances, the silent agreement was broken.

The townsfolk rushed to Maria’s door, pushing and trampling each other to be the one to catch the bird. Hoping she was not too late, Maria lunged to her window and flicked the latch, repaying her price for the dress and praying it was enough.

The scarlet macaw snapped its wings wide, stunning everyone to a stop. As the color saturated under the light of the sun, clarity transcended of what a glorious bird it really was. With three pounding flaps, the macaw took flight, wings clipping the edge of the wooden framed window and sailed toward the sky.

The villagers scattered out of the family’s front door hoping the bird had not escaped far, as a feather like that would be ten times the gold they made in a year, but Maria just smiled knowing the true value of its worth.

Delighted to be back from where it came, the bird danced around the cut in the sky, weaving its wings along the split, until the seam was hidden beneath the wisps of clouds. And at last, when its final stitch pulled taut, the sunset poured from its feathers, lighting up the sky and welcoming the night back to its home beside the day. Enamored with the picturesque sky, it was only Maria who saw the trail of the bird and its glisten of a wink as it faded through the valley heading toward the southern horizon.

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And so disappeared the scarlet macaw, the bird born from the sunset. Many legends say it escaped to a magical forest that grew into a maze so dense, man could no longer find the bird and its beautiful gifts. For without such protection, the sunset would be all we’d have left to remember it by.

But you can’t always believe the words of legends. For it was also rumored, that the bird would occasionally return to Maria, grateful for her releasing it to nature and so, she would wear her dress dazzling the world with its extraordinary colors, giving thanks for all that was around her.

So, while the old woman’s advice should be heeded of humans never owning the world in which we live, we must also learn from Maria that if we appreciate nature for what it is, we can all dance in the beauty of the sunset and wear the world around us.