wisteria morning


olive raised her right hand to block the sunlight that spilled in between the folds of her lavender curtains. please, she thought to herself, give me at least another hour. i am not ready for the morning.

all of a sudden, as if the universe heard her quiet prayer, the light inched back from the window, leaving a soft glow behind. olive's room was dark once more, with a hint of wisteria tracing the walls, where the sun had just touched her room. she lowered her hand and curled it back against her chest. maybe this would be an easy morning, after all.

the hour passed and the sun made no attempt to crawl back into her bed, so olive rose slowly. she stepped out of her bed, stretching out her arms and rising up on her tip toes. a yawn escaped her mouth, like a baby tiger learning how wide its jaws could open after a nap in the jungle.

olive walked over to her bathroom, started running the bath water and then returned to her room where she opened up her curtains to see that the sky had turned grey, welcoming soft showers of rain across the land. she made her way to the kitchen, where she put a tea kettle on the stove and poured three cups of milk into the kettle, along with a cup of powdered milk. while she waited for the milk to warm up, she sliced a piece of sourdough bread and placed it in the toaster, taking out the butter to spread once the bread was done.

a few moments later she turned the stove off and carried the tea kettle back to her bathroom, sourdough slice in hand, and poured the milk into the tub. olive laid the bread on the bathroom counter and walked back into her room where she removed her clothes, picking up a sketchbook and jar of watercolors and paint brushes. in her bathroom, she placed a wooden board across the top of the tub and stopped the bathwater. olive set the jar of colors and brushes on the left side of the board, the sketchbook at the center and the slice of sourdough on the right. she stepped into the tub and eased herself down, making sure to fully submerge herself before coming up again and drying her hands and face off.

once dry, olive opened her sketchbook to a clean page, she took a bite out of her sourdough bread while she thought of things to create. images of crystals, soapy bubbles, snake scales and willow trees slowly rustling in gentle winds passed through her mind. once she finished her bread she wiped her hands of crumbs on a nearby hand towel and opened up one of the watercolor bottles from within the jar, she grabbed a paint brush and dipped it into her bathwater, then dipped it into the bottle of color. with her free hand, olive held the sketchbook slightly slanted against the wooden board and with her other hand she began to paint the eyes of the creature she had seen in many of her dreams.

golden eyes that dug their way into her own muddy eyes. white fangs hidden within a quiet mouth. olive's imagination brought the creature to life within the hour, emerald scales dripping with milk water, creating a depth and vibrance she appreciated. as the next hour crept by, the sunlight began to return, greeting her window with thousands of kisses, casting tiny rainbows within her room, eventually finding its way to the bathroom mirror where it lit up the room's walls and danced with the bubbles in the tub. olive let her eyes wander down her body, now slightly covered in a green hue, with streaks of gold swirling around the water where her knees protruded. she slid the sketchbook back to the wooden board and placed the paintbrush back into the jar, she picked the board up and placed it on the floor at the side of the tub. olive brought her arms back into the tub and allowed her body to slide into the bathwater, holding her breath and closing her eyes. for what would have been five deep breaths she remained still and submerged by the glittering mixture of water, milk, and paints.

finally, olive came back up for air. opening her eyes she saw that the bathroom had melted into wisteria hues, as if the morning had sunk into a field of lavender. she wiped the water away from her eyes and saw two starlit eyes staring back at her. what has happened to my eyes, she wondered, reaching up to her face to make sure that it was her she was looking at. it was. two glittery eyes that held more magic than the artwork that laid beside her did. the morning was finally embracing her. at last.

Cheyenne RaineComment