Glass Magnolias

Sensible's first date with her inner artist was hardly exotic but any inch of space to let a lost artist out becomes a wild adventure of golden, global proportions. Tempted out by the release from Company and Responsibility with the allure of petal, wonder and form, Petulance came to the top of the Normal Box. The sheeting rain did nothing to dampen her redemptive swing into the stars, rather it added a quirky silver silliness to the whole affair that made her ears prick up.

i wonder if we'll be arrested for stalking this house paparazzi-style? Petulance giggled.

doubt it, Sensible smiled indulgently at Petulance peeping above the rim of the Normal Box.

what a pity, i wish we would be, insisted Petulance, now fully emerged and kicking her shoes against the side of the box in good humour, imagine the laugh that would be.

Much to Sensible's relief, we were not arrested but drove past a few times and had enormous fun trying to take clear shots of the tree between the screeching blades of the window wipers. We fought over the camera, and whose turn it was, and talked about what fun it would be to play in the little benches set into the branches of the tree.

Then we found this unmarked corner shop of pure design soup for the soul and ran in out of the rain. Petulance watched entranced as light was at play in the chandelier's fingers, pulled faces at herself in monstrous roman mirrors, fingered the victorian lace of someone's wedding dress, stiff with age, and stroked the patina of french borne china and woodwork.

Sensible felt she must talk to the owner and apologise for the way Petulance was snapping photographs so callously, in this hallowed room of wealth. No sooner had she said hello when Petulance bounded over and pretended we were rich and that we were interested in such immeasurably fancy pieces, such as that sage green cast iron bath, those divine shutters and of course, a table just like this ten thousand dollar one. Sensible tried to rein her in but of course she knew once Petulance got a whiff of freedom, it was hard to stop her. Finally Sensible could tolerate the fanciful conversations of the antique & colonial markets of the spice world no more and dragged Petulance out by the ribbons in her hair.

They had nearly reached the confines of the car when Petulance whipped the camera up for one last click in defiant victory of the shop's back window. Swiftly Sensible tucked her back into the Normal Box and slid it once more into the pocket of her invisible cloak before letting the tyres wetly swish her back into the arms of Company and Responsibility.

Kelly  – (August 20, 2009 at 9:52 PM)  

L-O-L! This is SO me! I just love the way you write it! Thanks for the smile, from one artist to another!

Cassandra Frear  – (August 24, 2009 at 9:30 PM)  

This post and the one before it had the oddest effect on me -- passion. I think you have helped me understand part of what it is that I do in my writing. I herald joy. I bring joy. And that is a thing of power and majesty. It meets a deep and irrevocable need of the human soul. It is the touch (borrowed, loaned from the Author of life) of the Divine. It says, "All is well, and all shall be well. Heaven is near."

I have been at low points like these in my life, and God kept me when I could not keep myself. Out of the ashes, beauty (from where?) flowed in and My Savior stepped into the grayness -- Himself ! smiling warmly -- and took me with him on adventures in joy.

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