memoirsverse: (Evelyn)
[personal profile] memoirsverse
Evelyn often takes long walks in her small-town Louisiana neighborhood, inhaling the scent of the wisteria, the oleander, the crepe myrtle that froth along the verdant lawns, melodic colors accented by the thrumming, subdued harmonies of the aging, peeling hues painted on the houses. The warm spring wind caresses her face, bringing with it the taste of rain, tiny droplets shimmering in the heavy air. She turns her face to the overcast sky, her eyes picking out the subtleties of the swirls of violet and indigo, touches of warm green in the deepest shadows, a faint tinge of pink in the light, flecks of gold limning the edges of cloud where the sun peeks through. Gray is not a word in her vocabulary– she sees too many intricacies to use such a crude and overly simplistic descriptor.

She breathes in these colors, these refractions of light and music that dance in her mind. They bring her a sort of peace, easing the ache in her head, her body, her soul. She feels the life around her, and it makes her smile, a faint but slowly re-illuminated memory of joy and desperately earned freedom
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