The easel stood proudly before her, placed exactly where the artist’s eye would get the best view. The empty canvass would have wriggled in excitement if it could, waiting for just one splash of colour to take away its starkness.
The woman rested back a moment in her chair. The garden ahead gave its own glorious canvass of colour as the forest and fields behind created a nice backdrop, a small sigh escaped recently moisturised lips.
Mossy green eyes now took a leisurely look upon the multitude of squeezed tubes, brushes and array of artist’s tools, her slender pale fingers twitching, eager to start. There was just the twitter of birds interrupted by the snore of a lazy house dog as the cat meandered back and forth between her legs.
The sun peeked its rays through the haze of branches, splintering in to more rays to dust upon the petals and grass, a smile creasing upon her lips as the warmth radiated through clement veins. A splash of gold and russet found itself being placed upon the canvass, the emerging of what, she was not sure at this precise time, her art always morphing as the day went on.
Resting a moment after a few brushstrokes the wooden handle found itself twiddling and twisting between fingers like a baton, the clouds making an eager appearance nudging against the toasty rays, drowning them out.
Saturated greenery suddenly became lacklustre as a shiver ran down her spine, the hairs of the brush now coated in darker and deeper shades, sweeping across now wetter and more colourful canvas.
There was a tussle and a ruffle as the sun fought its way back, today was going to be one of those days. Resting back in to her chair lids closed a moment, distractions always trying to pry her away from intended task as the warmth kissed her lips.
Memories floating back to that bar, the hustle and bustle of urban life, the opposite of her now rural existence. That kiss, so different to the kiss of sunshine, that kiss that tasted of whisky and cigars, the stubble burning her skin as she gasped, surprising herself at the memory, it invoking tingles to rage through her body, goosebumps erupting everywhere.
Breathing in deeply, she resisted the necessity to open her eyes, enjoying the memory, though it had faded, another sigh, this one of disappointment. Sadness swept through her veins, lashes lifting to survey rural surroundings once more.
A jolt went through her body at the crude sharp sound of a trilling bell, the phone, it obliterating any vestiges of memory, any moment of calm as she lifted up to go and answer it…..
© Justine Nagaur Eclecticoddsnsods.com
image: taken with my sister’s Nook
With a shudder her eyes opened. The room was fuzzy and no matter what she tried she couldn’t bring it into focus. She blamed the dull throbbing in her head for that. And the way her body in general feels like it was soaked in a swimming pool for days rather than the normal two hours that she spends doing laps.
She has no idea why her head hurts like this because she’s never had a problem with headaches before. Whatever is causing it must also be the reason behind why her throat feels worse than any amount of congestion she’s ever had on top of swallowing a chicken bone.
“Miss Summers.”
She wondered just how she even got here.
“Miss Summers, can you hear me?”
She couldn’t even really remember the last thing she’d been doing-
“Miss Summers, if you can understand what I am saying blink once.”
She blinked as rapidly as possible when she realized that someone was speaking to her. Her vision was still very fuzzy so all she was seeing was a giant moving blob in neutral colors.
“I don’t think she’s quite awake enough yet, doctor.”
“Coming out from anesthesia can always through a person for a loop, nurse.”
“Let’s just hope that this one recovers better than the last patient we had in for this.”
This picture and little continuation of Justine’s story are in answer to her Eclectic Corner #6: Story & Photography prompt. I wasn’t sure what to write about today and I’m kind of dead tired as well (moving is not fun when you’r trying to pack up eight people and do other necessary stuff and you’re not even actually moving anything into the new house for about a week and a few days) so I was glad when she mentioned it to me. Thank you, Justine! You have saved me for the day.
I don’t remember the name of the painting or the artist, but it’s something my parents purchased in the first few years of their marriage before they had a bunch of kids. It was one of the first things to jump to mind while I was reading through the story prompt.
Breathing In 