Truth and Story
By Tanya Batt
In the beginning there was Truth, and she wore not a thread of clothing upon herself. Into the towns and cities she would go, out into the countryside she’s venture knocking on the doors of villagers and the farming folk. But every door that was opened for her was instantly closed again when the people looked upon her naked body. Poor Truth, there was not a house, nor a home that would have her. Neither the rich nor the poor, neither the young nor the old.
Now it so happened that our crisp winter evening Truth found herself alone once again, sitting naked on the steps of a stately home. From inside she could hear the sound of voices, their warmth oozing, she could smell delicious food, the clatter and cheerfulness of conversation and company BUT she knew it was pointless knocking on the door. The minute the door was opened it would be closed on her naked form, and so she sat alone and miserable.
When all of a sudden she was distracted from her misery by a bright flash of colour. She looked up and saw walking along the street a woman in beautiful bright coloured clothes. Silks and satins, brocades and lace. She has rings on her fingers and bells on her toes and it certainly seemed that where ever she stepped music followed – the music of happy voices. Truth watched as the woman knocked upon door after door in the street and at every door she was warmly welcomed.
Truth watched puzzled until finally the woman in her fine, flouncy frock reached the stately home and bounded up the steps.
“Hey,” said Truth, “wait a minute.”
The woman stopped. “Who are you?” Truth asked.
“I’m story,” smiled Story, “who are you?”
“I’m Truth,” muttered Truth miserably.
“Well Truth,” laughed Story, “you don’t look like you’re having much fun to me. Why don’t you come in and join me.”
“Me! Join you?” exclaimed Truth, “I don’t think so. I’ve been watching you and every door you knock upon you are warmly welcomed, whilst every door I knock on is closed on me.”
Story looked long and hard, “Have you looked in a mirror lately Truth.”
“Why?”
“Well, I don’t mean to be rude Truth, but you’re … naked. Stark naked.”
“So,” said Truth, “I’m Truth.”
“Well Truth el’natural is all very beautiful and everything but it’s kind of hard to look on. I don’t think Truth was ever designed to be a centre fold model. Listen take a page from my book or better still a shirt off my back.” And that Story slipped from herself one of her many bright coloured layers and handed it to Truth. “People like colour, they like brightness, texture, design, intrigue, concealment … they appreciate a good frock!”
Truth took the bright coloured cloth from Story and wrapped it about herself. She slipped bracelets and bells upon her hands and feet. And together they walked hand in hand into the stately home.
And so it has been from that date forth, you will find Truth at all good parties and gatherings. She’s often hard to recognise but she’ll be there wrapped in the bright coloured layers given to her by story.
From Swag of Yarns spring 2003
In the beginning there was Truth, and she wore not a thread of clothing upon herself. Into the towns and cities she would go, out into the countryside she’s venture knocking on the doors of villagers and the farming folk. But every door that was opened for her was instantly closed again when the people looked upon her naked body. Poor Truth, there was not a house, nor a home that would have her. Neither the rich nor the poor, neither the young nor the old.
Now it so happened that our crisp winter evening Truth found herself alone once again, sitting naked on the steps of a stately home. From inside she could hear the sound of voices, their warmth oozing, she could smell delicious food, the clatter and cheerfulness of conversation and company BUT she knew it was pointless knocking on the door. The minute the door was opened it would be closed on her naked form, and so she sat alone and miserable.
When all of a sudden she was distracted from her misery by a bright flash of colour. She looked up and saw walking along the street a woman in beautiful bright coloured clothes. Silks and satins, brocades and lace. She has rings on her fingers and bells on her toes and it certainly seemed that where ever she stepped music followed – the music of happy voices. Truth watched as the woman knocked upon door after door in the street and at every door she was warmly welcomed.
Truth watched puzzled until finally the woman in her fine, flouncy frock reached the stately home and bounded up the steps.
“Hey,” said Truth, “wait a minute.”
The woman stopped. “Who are you?” Truth asked.
“I’m story,” smiled Story, “who are you?”
“I’m Truth,” muttered Truth miserably.
“Well Truth,” laughed Story, “you don’t look like you’re having much fun to me. Why don’t you come in and join me.”
“Me! Join you?” exclaimed Truth, “I don’t think so. I’ve been watching you and every door you knock upon you are warmly welcomed, whilst every door I knock on is closed on me.”
Story looked long and hard, “Have you looked in a mirror lately Truth.”
“Why?”
“Well, I don’t mean to be rude Truth, but you’re … naked. Stark naked.”
“So,” said Truth, “I’m Truth.”
“Well Truth el’natural is all very beautiful and everything but it’s kind of hard to look on. I don’t think Truth was ever designed to be a centre fold model. Listen take a page from my book or better still a shirt off my back.” And that Story slipped from herself one of her many bright coloured layers and handed it to Truth. “People like colour, they like brightness, texture, design, intrigue, concealment … they appreciate a good frock!”
Truth took the bright coloured cloth from Story and wrapped it about herself. She slipped bracelets and bells upon her hands and feet. And together they walked hand in hand into the stately home.
And so it has been from that date forth, you will find Truth at all good parties and gatherings. She’s often hard to recognise but she’ll be there wrapped in the bright coloured layers given to her by story.
From Swag of Yarns spring 2003
posted by Sarah Johnstone | 2:04 PM
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