The day was May the seventeenth, around the time of year when innocent buds are alluding to glorious blossoms. It was a clear Sunday afternoon, while every previous day had conjured to be a cloudy conundrum. The mood of the sky was reflected onto sun hats and sun dresses like a mirror was placed between the ground and expanse above.
To my left, located atop the grass, was where the few newborns were cared for in their lamb-tinted cradles by the nannies, who spent their time sipping tea ’round wooden foldable tables. On most any other day the sight of these newly born babes would fill me with joy and admiration, but today as I gazed at their infinitely miniature hands I felt only empty. But I forced myself to not dwell on this thought for long and continued my observations.
I turned my head to look directly in front of me down the small hill, where the children were rambunctiously splashing in the lake, desperately racing against the sunset to fit in as much play as possible before they were called to go to bed. They are like dew drops because as morning fast approaches the dew can be seen forming on the grass. They are abundant, soft, and can be quite an annoyance to run into. Dew is on a race against the rising sun, trying to exist for as long as possible before the heat steals them away.
Then, a bit to the right is where the few teenagers were found lounging underneath the oaks on various wooden swings. The girls sat in a way that looked uncomfortable due to their vain attempts at appearing presentable to the boys, who were too busy trying to shoot idle forest animals with hastily made sling shots to pay them any attention. When I was a child I envied the maturity of teens, but now that I am grown I more so envy the carelessness of the children.
Finally I looked directly in front of me to view the pompous ladies gossiping to their ear’s content, paying no mind to the fact that their words were hollow, shallow, and most of all frivolous in every way. The middle-aged woman on the other side of the table from me waved her glove-covered hand to gesture while she was speaking, completely unaware of the fact that nobody at the table was paying any mind to her. A lady sitting next to me, only a few years ahead of my age, seemed more focused on the back door of the house than what her companion was saying. Every couple of seconds she would glance from her friend to the door, most likely wishing for the arrival of the gentlemen who had gone off earlier that day to play a leisurely game of golf. It was quite entertaining to watch her shift in her seat so often, adjust her hat, and smooth her dress.
After some time I switched my concentration from the people to nature. The backyard of Mrs. Robertson’s house was average. The lake was a good size, surrounded by plenty of forest that stretched back behind the establishment for some ways. Between the lake and the house was a large expanse of grass and garden all on a small hillside. The woman were seated at the top of the hill, next to a small fountain in a circle of knee-high bushes.
Just as I had begun to admire the small garden where the younger ones were swinging, the back door of the brick house swung open and out stepped the gentlemen, laughing and enjoying themselves as they came out to greet their wives and friends. All the young women looked as pleased as ever to see the young gentlemen arrive, and I was just about to laugh out loud at their desperation when a man I had never seen before walked out the door.
He glanced around and looked slightly uncomfortable. Because I had never seen him before I assumed he was a new addition to our group. He was certainly handsome, and so I took the liberty of rising from my chair as he approached with the rest. As I stood I flattened my dress and straightened my hat so as to look presentable. My mind wandered in delight. I wondered if this was what love at first sight was. Upon reaching our seating area some of the gentleman greeted their wives and I saw the handsome man walking in my direction. My heart fluttered and started beating as if running a race. He came closer and I thought just then of how wonderful a couple we would be when he stopped just before he reached me, standing with the lady seated next to me. He then leaned over and kissed her on the cheek before engaging in conversation.
I slowly sank back in my chair and thought of my stupidity at so quickly creating such fantasies in my head. I thought about how many times I did this to myself. I too often let my mind wander into the joy of the unreal and not often enough did I pay close attention to reality. As I reflected upon the imaginary scenarios I had created, I shifted my gaze from his beautiful face to the small flower pot on the table. It seemed like the flower inside had recently died for there were some hints of green left on the stem, but it was mostly brown. But I had hope. Hope that the dying flower could still become a magnificent blossom. And that, I suppose, is my one true fault.
