She dresses for the weather. The canopy of clouds only depicts immaturity. But she is sure.. it is a lonely painting if she were to frame the world outside. As she opens the door from the darkness of her room, the mood is finalized.. She remembers her mother pinning clothes fresh from cleaning.
A curve slowly forms on her lips, she smiles.. answering mother’s idyllic glance. The breeze is the dampness of cloth and the breath of soil is another story.
She hears their pet cat purr. Grandfather is watering plants while she watches by the window. Butterflies flutter as it showers, birds sing early in the morning. Mother calls her.. mentions her name like it is a sweet and funny song. One last take, she relishes the tinge of water and earth.
She is a girl who likes to run whenever someone calls her. She never runs away. Before she even gets close to where the voice comes from, their pet dog fawns at her.
“What’s your name?” A girl with a red umbrella asks as she pats a neighborhood dog on stroll. At a distant, she does not move for the moment.. and for moments that pass by.
It begins to drizzle. She sees herself dressed for the weather and moves on.
A different version
She dresses for the weather.
The canopy of clouds only depicts immaturity. She is sure – it is a lonely picture if she were to frame the world outside.
As she opens the door from the darkness of her room, the mood settles. She remembers her mother pinning clothes fresh from washing.
A curve slowly forms on her lips. She smiles, answering mother’s idyllic glance.
The breeze is the dampness of cloth.
She hears their pet cat purr; grandfather waters the plants as she watches by the window; butterflies flutter as it showers; birds chirp early in the morning.
Mother calls her, mentions her name like a sweet and funny song.
She is a girl who likes to run whenever someone calls. She never runs away.
Before she even gets close to where the voice comes from, their pet dog fawns.
“What’s your name?” A girl with a red umbrella asks and pats the neighborhood dog on stroll.
. . .
In the distance, she does not move for moments.
It begins to drizzle.
She sees herself dressed for the weather.
Originally published in happyobituary.blogspot.com on 10 February 2005 3:56 pm.