This might be the fairytale I listened to as a little girl.
It might be the fairytale I tell my own children.
Or it might be the fairytale somebody else tells theirs.
In the end, we are all linked to each another, through time and space, by the stories we tell.

All I know is that I was sad when it was finished.
Which is new for me.
My dragon is perfectionism. We are engaged in a never-ending battle and I am rarely ever happy with the results of my work. I tend to be happier with my woven imagery, though. They somehow feel more satisfying. Accomplished.
But this is new.
I really did not want to leave this weaving.
I even kept coming up with ways to weave more of these (not the same, of course). If I found the time…
It felt so… safe. Imaginative. Dreamy.
It felt like being a child again.
A fairytale.