Tuesday, September 27, 2005

The Dance of the Sofa Throw.

Picture a two seater sofa in a living room at twilight. It is covered by a sofa throw; woolen, tassled, pale in colour. The last rays of of the setting sun peek from between the leaves outside, pass through a window hanger, and cast a myriad of rainbows over the scene.
Enter a small dog.
It's nose twitches as it anticipates the possibility of joys to come. It stretches. Each muscle and sinew is flexed in preparation...
The dog leaps upon the sofa and gently starts to turn; patting the sofa throw to coax it from it's slumber, enticing the cloth to begin the dance...
The dog is impatient, the fabric sleeps on, the dog raises itself onto it's hindlegs and brings it's forepaws down hard on the headrest of the sofa.
At last, the sofa throw awakes as the dog sweeps its claws into the ceding material and the dance begins!
The throw executes it's first movement. It slips to engulf the dog; embracing it, smothering it, cherishing and warming the creature, as if it's love is so strong it will never let it free from it's grasp.
The dog relishes the moment and wriggles like a puppy underneath the weight of the fabric in sheer delight.
The two for a moment are inorexably intertwined and move as one in a frenzy as their ballet approaches it's final movements.
They cannot stay in the moment forever; the show must follow it's course and one must play the victor and the other yield as has been written in the stars at the dawn of time.
The small dog twists and turns to find it's release from the bonds of yarn. It rolls onto it's back and kicks hard, endeavouring to find a grip on the sofa, praying to find an ally in the solid wood, it's claws seeking anchor.
At last, the performance reaches it's crescendo as the duo tumble from the sofa.
They rest upon the cool of the wooden floor; panting, spent, exhausted. There is a moment of heavy stillness. Even the dust motes seem to pause mid-air so as not to break the quietness.
A tiny movement breaks the spell. A dark nose emerges from the confines of the wool. The dog is champion and turns to it's audience of one with a smile of contentment before exiting the room.
The sofa throw, now beaten, torn and broken in spirit remains motionless to await it's fate in the next world as the last of the rainbows leave the stage and bring the dark of night.