I had my first offical foray into the gardens this morn. It was just after eight - the summer sun had long since ascended the horizon, but had not yet risen so high that it blinded us. We settled under the mimosa, where the shadows offered sanctuary from the rays to come and blossoms fluttered to our feet.
When my Angel was young, she called the delicate flowers of the mimosa 'powder puffs'. Near the stem, the little tendrils are so pale as to be almost white, but as one's gaze moves toward their tips, they become a deeper pink; as if faery queens had used them to apply their rouge.
They suit me, indeed.
As the sun began to escape the treeline that had until then constrained it, I lifted my hand to shield my eyes, that I might gaze still into what lies beyond the gardens. Someday, we will leave here, she and I; and journey to a grander place. But for now, it is enough merely to dream alongside my Angel; though I do wish I had arrived in time for the wysteria. Perhaps next year, if we are not so far north as to have left it behind. I hope we need not abandon its range to make our own escape, for she loves it so.
She had purchased a secondhand dress for herself, only to discover that it was too small. This was a surprise to both of us, as she more often has trouble finding garments that, as she puts it, don't 'hang on her like a sack'. No loss, she said; its components had already given her an idea, and as inexpensive as it was, it was as much a bargain as fabric as it would have been as clothing.
The bottom layer - some opaque, semi-stretchy fabric - became a choli and petticoat, while the chiffon that floated above soon enough found itself stitched into shape and wound around me as a sort of sari. I see now why she is so fond of these arrangements - they are cool and comfortable, and though undeniably sensual, they are not so revealing as to seem purely whorish.
For a 'pallav', she folded what had once been a sash around one end of the sari and secured at either side. The crimping along the edges of the ribbon hides the stitchwork, save for the few places she did not manage a straight line. Even then, it is not overly noticable. A fine outfit for a queen.
© 2005, Atra Materia.
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