In a wide band of colour that crowns a dove peacoat, sits a scarf that sings of summer petals.
The woven strands of the scarf were as the love we share, intertwined and always keeping me warm.
The scarf sits snug to my skin, soft and gentle, becoming a colourful flag in the wintry winds.
The man was obviously a father. On top of his bland suit lay a comically knitted scarf in neon wool. It was unusually short for an adult and somewhat thin, you couldn't help but think it would be more appropriate on a teddy bear. But without it this man was just another faceless corporate executive, two dimensional, flat. With it he was someone loved, someone so sentimental that he didn't remove it once his child was out of sight. I could just see those grey features lighting up at the end of the day to tell nine year old he wore it all the way to work and it kept his neck toasty warm. Which in this unseasonably warm weather I don't doubt it did.