colorchallenge

She set forth through snow, barren and cold. Punctuated only by the occasional ancient skeleton of a winter tree, the landscape did not invite travelers other than herself. The deathly forest grew dense here, yet still there were only drab branches with no leaves nor fruit. Fog began to settle as she approached her destination. The hills seemed to be of the darkest granite here, and out of them rose a wall, invisible from afar.  Shimmering mist enveloped her haven, as fog gave way to dense, dark forest. Little light shone here, obscured by the deep granite walls and shadowed foliage. No snow reached the ground, trapped in the highest parts of the canopy, melting in the pale glow of winter and dripping down in glistening drops to the floor below, watering the garden, her garden.

At the base of an old oak grew soft grass, she followed this natural path as it wound deeper and deeper, its pale sheen the only light. Here the canopy thinned out and rays of light picked up ivy wound around the trunks of the moss-covered trees. Ferns covered the ground along the edge of a small stream.

She followed the water and glanced up at the appearing sky. Soon she would reach the true secret of this place. Around her sprung up hydrangea and irises, as morning glories wound their way up to the tree-tops. As more light poured down, the morning glories opened and seemed to glow themselves. Soon she came to a small pond, surrounded by periwinkle and delphiniums.

At the far end of the pond, the sunlight made the water shine so brightly that she could not look at it. Here, daisies and daffodils sprung up among the delphiniums. A short marigold-lined path led her to the inner sanctum.

Here, the palest cherry blossoms graced the trees and soft azaleas sprouted up around her feet. As she neared, the trees thinned and their flowers became more vivid, dogwood too bloomed here. Butterflies could be seen here and there, flying about.

Finally, another wall, of sandstone and jasper this time, appeared and she stood before the gate.  A bougainvillea blossom peaked through, radiant against rusty iron hinges and mahogany boards. She lifted the latch gently, and made her way inside.

 Her private blessing dazzled her eyes for a moment, she was surrounded by more bougainvillea and vibrant roses. Bird of paradise bushes rose up around a copper bench. Here it was not winter, nor summer as by the lake nor spring as along the final path. This was the garden of autumn, and the maple trees shouted this with every leaf on every branch. A tiny Japanese maple sheltered the flower she had come to seek, a single poinsettia in a terracotta pot.

She picked up the pot, oh so gently and retraced her steps, past roses and cherry blossoms. She stepped carefully through marigolds and daffodils. She stared longingly at her delphiniums and morning glories as she ducked beneath the leafy boughs. The smell of chlorophyll hung in the air as she reemerged by that grass-sheltering oak.

She bowed gracefully to stream and tree alike as she reemerged through forest and fog, past the ever vigilant walls, and back into the wintry forest beyond. The snow fell harder now, threatening to drown out the shadows with its pale sheen. She pulled her cloak tight around her poinsettia and ran, over the hills and snow banks back to her house.

Icicles hung from her eaves and she gazed at them warily as she opened the wooden door to her mud-brick house. She placed her prize on the cedar table in the center of the room and lit the oil lamp, casting its flame about the dingy room.

A moment later the door opened and a man shook snow off his bleached wool cloak. She stared at him for a moment, almost not seeing him against the snow outside, the closing door bringing him into focus. His diamond jewelry and smoky eyes brought no life to his attire.

“Did you find it?” he asked.

“It is in the dining room,” she said, simply.

He walked in and caressed the petals. “It is here.”

His clothing shimmered in the lamp light and as shadows were restored he was clad now in brown slacks and a green shirt, a blue cloak lined with gold and white billowing out behind him. He watered the poinsettia gently and his diamonds turned to amethyst and rubies. The silver in his eyes was now a radiant green, flecked with gold and copper.

“Thank you, Flora. I have waited many months for you to bring my color back.”

“It is my duty and my joy.”