An imaginary snapshot of Virginia Wolf
Summer morning-sitting on half a hill I imagine her ... basking on the doorstep in her teal summer dress and yellow bed socks. The sun cast directly onto her slightly raised chin. As people pass by, they politely nod across at her. If ever their eyes should meet it is but only for a brief second, then her gaze falls back away onto the concrete steps. She carries her dozen plant pots outside, lining them up in a row; little ducklings which she silently names-as if they were all her own children. Her focus drifts to how to plant a rose bush. She mentally figures out every step she has to take. In her mind's eye—it is already planted in the center of the lawn. Pink, red, and yellow roses rise unapologetically. Then when her rose, bush blossoms to its pique, grey clouds sprinkle down to wash her creation away, leaving her with dead roses that wither and fade, as if they had never happened.
Hubby lazily strolls into the garden to check the branches of his pear tree. He’s wearing his shorts today. He has nice legs, she had forgotten ... manly ... but not too hairy. A wispy breeze frames her hair around her cheeks. She picks it away as her eyes catch the top window of the bedroom opposite her house. The dark blue shutters are tightly closed, leaving a metallic taste of whisky under the roof of her mouth. Her face changes into what could be a smile or a grimace. She notices her long elegant fingers— that she fancies do not match the rest of her body, which she finds too fleshy or too bony in all the wrong places. A sense of dizziness overwhelms her as she pulls herself back up to cross the red doorstop to go back inside her home.