The first rays of sun snuck into her bedroom, diffracted into rainbows by the large panes of beveled glass. Somebody had left one of the large French doors, the ones that led into the garden, open, and the breeze that blew in brought with it the scent of the night rain. Cimmy smiled and rushed to her feet, noticed that she'd fallen asleep in the gown she'd been wearing the night before, and was surprised to notice that the delicate silk fabric wasn't wrinkled. She loved that dress, blushing with the color of ripe apricots, and wore it often; she loved its simple cut, devoid of frills and embellishments, which blossomed amply at the waist to form a full circle, perfect for twirling. One strap had fallen off her shoulder and she instinctively adjusted it, while she tried to remember where she had left her sandals the night before. She couldn't remember which room it was, nor did she care.
She'd taken them off because she couldn't run in them, or dance in them the way she wanted to, and in the process rediscovered the feeling of soft grass under her bare feet, and the rush of the water around her ankles during the torrential rain.
She opened the other pane and stood in the doorway, her back against one of the wide wooden jambs, looking out into the garden at the clear puddles that had formed, here and there, in the gravel path, after the rain. The morning sunshine touched them gently, stirring glimmers and sparkles, almost like a dare to bring Cimmy out into the open.
The latter giggled, delighted by this game nature was playing with her, and rushed out, barefoot, into the garden, splashing in puddles and getting drenched from above with the remnants of the night rain that the wind brought down from the tree canopies above.
The garden was very large, but Cimmy knew it well, because she had spent her whole childhood in it. She rushed past the tall sages and bent her head, without even thinking about it, when she walked under the arbor, where the roses were in full bloom. She had the wild canes of the climbing roses tangle in her hair more than once, and by now she could bow her head just enough to avoid them, even with her eyes closed.
She wandered past the tall lilies, which reached above her head, and whose dark, pollen laden stamens stained her fingers when she brushed her hands against them.
Behind them, the umbels of milkweed welcomed hosts of butterflies, which were stirred into flight by the light breeze, only to descend quickly upon the bright orange flowers again, in search of nectar.
The narrow gravel path ended abruptly into the main alley, which was wide, covered in flagstones and lined by linden trees.
Cimmy walked in the shade of the trees, breathing deeply the sultry perfume, her soles tickled by the moss and flowering thyme which was growing between the stones like a soft living carpet and yielded its spicy fragrance under her feet.
She felt the breeze from the pond and picked up the pace, eager to reach her favorite hiding spot before the rain started again, she could tell from the dance of light and shadow on the path that a second installment of the downpour that had fallen overnight was about to start at any moment.
The gazebo was out on a narrow strip advancing into the lake, strip which broke down towards the end, into a path of stepping stones, surrounded by the water, and Cimmy jumped from one stepping stone to the next with the agility of a mountain goat.
She jumped into the gazebo just seconds before the rain started again, with booming, rolling thunder and bolts of lightning, thick as ropes, dancing above the trees; the rain fell hard and fast, drumming on the roof, and crumpling the placid surface of the pond with a myriad of ripples.
The hem of her dress was drenched and heavy, and had turned three shades darker, but Cimmy didn't care.
She sat down on the round bench that surrounded the post in the middle of the gazebo and gazed into the distance at the heavy clouds which were moving very fast, dropping their watery load over the heads of the cattails, and on the fleshy petals of the water lilies, and sifted it down through the tree canopies until only a sprinkling of water drops reached the ground.
YOU ARE READING
The Garden
FantasyShe put the stack of drawings away, determined never to look at them again, and found ways to keep herself occupied for the next month. And then, according to the law of averages, somebody else in the village got sick, and she, along with everybody...
