Holding my lemon-grass laced tea, I peered through the huge French windows to see the familiar scene. I stared for a moment and shook my head. Would the enigmatic creature ever cease to lift the curtain of uncertain mystery over herself?
Her hair streaked silver with life's harsh experiences as I surmise, she appeared healthy but slightly bent . The green foliage and the abundant red roses seemed willing partners to keep away unwanted gaze and intrusion.
No household help or staff seem to give her company nor had I heard a bark or a meow.
She seemed content to co-exist alone in her own company painting on canvas.
Is her brush dipped into the colours of her past or are her strokes of a hopeful future?
Is her immersion in the art a passage to escape or expectation of a footfall or a shroud of grief?
My mind is ravaged with a thousand questions only to be greeted by silence of the winds blowing. Wish I could borrow the bumble bee's wings to hover around her and delve into the veil that she was take refuge.
I had never seen her fetch groceries, shop at the florist nor did she attend the Church.
The neighbourhood people whispered weird words about her eccentric life but the surface had to be scratched to find out if she needed help.
As I find no answers, I recollect the Nature poet's verse
Will no one tell me what she sings?
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old unhappy far off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of today?
Some natural sorrow , loss or pain,
That has been and may be again.
The echo of the lines is heard in the silence of the mind and I cannot help but compare the parallels drawn with the solitary reaper and this lonely lady alone in her verdant garden with her palette of colours.
One day we will laugh and bond over tea and scones in the verdant garden.
Written for : Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
The beautiful picture prompt could not hold me back from crossing the word limit.