They wove the curtained tapestry from centuries of hopes and dreams, and from billions of flower petals and puffy dandelion seeds blown into the wind.
They watered it with the misty breaths of “love me, love me not.”
Fed it with the light that emanated from eyes that had found the answer.
Knit it with the gentleness of fingers reaching out to hold.
Paced it with the heartbeats of the young and old.
All that was necessary.
The best of humans.
And it rose.
A cathedral of magnificence.
Delicate but strong.
Made with magic.
Laced with stories.
Wrought by fairies.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt: © Liz Young