WRITTEN BY VERONICA STIVALA
Every scarf has its day. Honeysuckle, a little black dress, and a special person… a Saz Mifsud scarf tells its tale.
The muffled sound of Bebel Gilberto’s mellow, deep soft voice and the plucks of the accompanying guitar grow louder as the wardrobe door creaks open. A whiff of sweet perfume rushes in, a soft voice and the delicate touch of fingers I know well have picked me up. It’s my day again! I never tire of being opened up and I adore going out.
My owner’s gone for her favourite black dress. It’s simple but judging by the number of times she wears it, I know she likes it very much. It first showed up in her wardrobe about a year ago. The above-knee length suits her and the low back makes it stand out from other dresses. Black, just perfect to offset my gorgeous colours. My rich oranges and deep shade of red will shine against the deep tones of the dress, and the turquoise shades will glisten even more since the sun is out today. I know I’m vain, but for a silk scarf, I think I’m pretty down to earth.
I can get a better view of the room now that I have been stylishly draped around my owner’s neck. The balcony door is ajar and sunlight is flooding in. A cool breeze is playing with the curtains as she walks out of the room.
The key turns in the engine, the radio goes on, midway through Antonio Carlos Jobim’s Brazil, the window goes down and we’re off. My owner’s in a particularly good mood today. I can tell because she’s humming to the music and tapping her feed on the foot pedal as she does so.
We’re walking through a lush green area. I can feel myself brush against big waxy leaves and all around me are the brightest of colours: pinks, yellows, reds and so many white petals. I must have drifted off. There must be a honeysuckle plant in the vicinity. I can smell its sweet aroma. But there is also a distinct smell of wine, and freshly cooked bread. What did I miss?
Before I have the chance to think more I find myself being run through someone else’s fingers. Bigger fingers than my owner’s, slightly coarser but they feel kind. My owner’s giggling as she rearranges me around her shoulders and her heart is racing.
We’ve just passed a shady alcove now. Beneath me is a cobblestoned path, to my left, a medley of plants; palms, roses peep out from the shrubbery, to my right, a slatted roof provides some shade. She turns around for a brief moment, gives a sensuous smile, and he snaps her, right there, capturing my parrot’s eyes and beak so gracefully. My red looks coral in this light. Stunning if I may say so myself.
The day is over before I have time to work out who he is, or where we were. I’m back next to the green headscarf and leather bag. They’re curious to know what happened today. You know, I’m not entirely sure myself. I’ll have to wait for my next day out.