Willows

The delicate weaves of the willows hung surreptitiously over the gardens. A gentle breeze twirled through the green curtain and kissed the crisping leaves. Pink petal flowers clustered in little groups, surrounded by daisies and tulips like huddling children. Their garden boxes were a gray stone with geometric shapes etched into the hard surfaces.

         Chestnut, coiled hair graced the heart-shaped head of a woman, thin eyebrows arched quizzically over her crystal colored eyes, pink, stretched lips turned in a frown. Her feathered quill tickled the tip of her long, poised nose. She sat bowed toward her stiff parchment, intimately engaged in the hanging line she could not begin to finish.

         The light above cracked through the protection of the willow curtain and fell across her figure like an illuminating halo. Her eyes caught the glow as a prism, and her irises began to dance vibrantly of warm, glittering colors.

         Expertly, her long fingers held the quill and swiftly wrote another line on the thick paper. She took a deep, satisfying breath as she savored the floral fragrant surrounding her. The morning air tasted crisp and dewy, like a mint to her awakening senses. A puffy bird chirped his song to the flowing wind.

Concussive thuds roared. Outside this little sanctuary, the woman could feel her burdens ringing along with them. As the words drained from her quill, the booms increased in volume, and she could feel her slippered feet bouncing to their violent beat. It became increasingly harder to ignore the echoes and physical earthquakes.

“Princess!” called a foot messenger. His long legs stretched and compressed as he landed footfalls as if he were jumping. The woman whom he called looked up quickly from her paper, dread pooling in her heart. She was already standing and moving toward him before he shouted:

         “It’s time.”