If I were here
If I were here.
If I were here the morning light would be Marie-Antoinette-blue.
I would push one of the cane chairs to face the other and I’d recline between them. My light grey linen dress would be trimmed in French lace and the fabric would gather around my ankles on the other chair like a cloud heavy with imminent rain.
I’d decorate the small table with buttery croissants and berry-jam bubbling with sweet nuggets of fruit. As I ate them great feathery flakes would break and flutter to the ground, nibbled by a minutia of grass-life as they fell.
If I were here the early morning would be dense with the twitter of wrens. They would spasm and tussle in the trees occasionally erupting from the green in small solar flares of activity.
I’d soon take to the edge of the pool, hitching my dress and allowing the cool stone to touch my stomach as I laid face down along-side it.
I’d outstretch my arm and my fingertips would drift in the water; an electric green trail of phosphorescent brilliance in their wake.
The weight of my arm would pull me further until, like a heavy pink submarine, the length of it would sink into the cool depths and pull me in thereafter.
If I were here I’d submerge. Sitting at the bottom of the pool my eyes would open to the emerald coolness and for a moment I’d feel foetal and my heart would syncopate with the pulse of the Earth.
I’d pull myself up and over the edge, and, heavy with the weight of wet linen, I’d sprawl on the grass.
At first the sun’s prickly heat would penetrate my closed eyelids and then warm my limbs. The cool circles of water left on the stone beside the pool would heat to silver molten puddles and turn to steam, drifting into the space above as ethereal vapors.
If I were here the late afternoon would turn bone-white-blue. I’d wander around the small trees in a silent maypole dance of distraction. I’d sing.
The evening would cool and I’d look back at the yellow glow of the main house and I’d think about dressing for dinner. I’d be ravenous by then. I’d want to consume and eat the blueness of the day away.
A silken dragonfly would hover just above the water at the moment I took to leave. I’d pause, take in its delicate crepe wings and breathe the last of the sky out.
If I were here.