Cerulean umbrellas
[Private]
A terrible idea.
But it will be good to get somewhere out of the house and away from St. Mungo's and the Ministry.
I have not heard from David in a time.
I'm sure it's nothing.
Perhaps I should owl him.
Or Him.
No, no. I'm being paranoid.
When I am old, I should like to live in a house by the sea.
All its windows would be open, always, in the summer, and whole nations of ivy would creep warmly over grey walls.
The garden would be humble, but intricate and wide. I would work it with my hands.
Only my brown hands.
Rain would fall like affirmations on the mint leaves.
I lift my glassy glass to the sun to catch the droplets sparkling off the waves
I drink my tea in the fog
and sit with tangled hair on the tall ocean rocks.
I'd be the madwoman by the sea!
The bravest children play pirate in my garden, and, realizing I do not bite, later come by for cocoa and gingersnaps.
And the rough auburn twists of trees at the seaside curl their knobbly whorls
like fingers
against the stark blue green of the Ponderosa sprays.
and it would be my house.
[/end Private]