A Morning Walk

A Morning Walk

Before sunrise, I went on a walk, for the sake of my psyche. As the sun came up, I saw a domain of brick, a cottage of humble stature. The cottage was under a canopy of trees. Small speckles of light sprinkled on its roof top. It was a pleasant looking place. I wondered about its inhabitants. It was a cute home, with a brick-lined courtyard. It was settled at the edge of an oxbow in the river. There were large heaps of fallen leaves that someone had raked into neat piles. They were numerous. The river was swollen from rainfall and water ran fast. The sun light was now coming out in full force. The luminism was brighter now, but the trees still shaded parts of the roof. The contrast between dark and light was fascinating to see.
I journeyed on into town. My throat was getting dry. The open air was good to breath, but I needed some water. I went to the town square. There was a large rock laying near a drinking fountain. I sat and rested upon it as I examined my surroundings. There was a shell near my foot. I kicked it over with my shoe to see the other side. It was pink, like the brick of the hotel across the street. There was a young woman standing under its porch.
She looked like she had been out all night and was missing her home. She looked like she needed to be put to bed. Wisps of her auburn hair hung down her back. They had escaped their up do. Her stature seemed drooped. As I observed from afar, I wondered what she might be like.
Her couture was expensive, one might say it was Avant- guard. She had beautifully colored layers. She wore an orange sweater dress with a shear, shimmering shawl of silver with a deep, purple, scarf flung over her shoulders. It flipped and flowed in the early breath of morning air. The bright colors reminded me of the fall leaves I had just seen.
I imagined, she was waiting for the maid to ready her room. She looked like she had danced all night. She carried her high heeled shoes in her hands. I wondered what tales she could tell. She would not cause many to speculate, but common sights seemed to enthrall me. I would store the images I saw today, to one day, use as characters in my musings. It was time to get home, to finish a work dated in the French Revolution. I had left one character at the guillotine. Her hero was at the ready to rescue her. No, they can wait. A new story was brewing in my mind.