The triumphs of erect stone, molded in the likeness of their creator. Pinned against the clouds, raised on colonnades each. To enhance their own loftiness, they point to above. All told, 'do not think of the firmament below, it is nothing compared to the spaces above'.
Agreed. The human mind has its limitations and assuredly its self-importance. Myself, as lowly as I am, still am victim to the same.
My hands sweat and I shift my kit of oils and canvas to the other. I would relieve myself of my woolen jacket, but I have not formally asked anything of the gardens and I am still desperate to find the Head Gardener. A fellow I'm told is Michaels. I've no idea what he looks like, but I suspect I would find him nearer the estate.
The Villa Liatris had survived the [Civil] War, nestled on a bend of the Mississippi near Ama. It had a rare garden of contemporaneous European varieties of Lady Slippers, with yellow and purple hues that I'm told are quite unique and not easily reproduced in oil.
I had not come across them yet as I tracked across one side of the garden and to the other. An ominous green house had stretched perpendicular to the main house, but I dare not enter without Michaels.
Frustrated at the endeavor and the heat, I found the shade of a cypress that was flanked with thick brush, creating an unnatural form of shade and coolness. I could always find one no matter what backwood forest I find myself. I sat and allowed myself to cool. Sweat and humidity weighed my suit down.
"Sir?" The call of southern hospitality. It was a young voice.
I smiled before I opened my eyes, "Forgive a man some shade, son. It is awfully warm out today and I have exhausted myself on effort of finding Mr. Michaels."
"Mr. Michaels, sir? The Head Gardner?"
"That's him."
"Let me fetch him for you." The boy ran off behind the arboretum. I committed myself to the spot until he showed up. In some time, the boy walked out with an older man in a light white long shirt. I stood up and straightened out.
We shook hands. "What can we do for you Mr. --?"
"Mr. Michaels, I simply wanted to ask for your permission to mix some oils and a bit of canvas painting. I hear tell that the Lady Slippers are available this time of year. I'm particular for the yellow and purple 'uns."
"Oils?"
"Painting. See sir I work as an illustrator for the Post. They are doing a fall piece for summer flowers. I guess for folks hearkening back on the weather. They gave me a stipend for your time to sit and paint for a day or two. That is, if you are agreeable."
"Well, son, I t'ain't ne'er hear of such a thing, but as long as you are just painting them and not disturbing them I don't see no harm."
"Won't touch them. May I pay you or the manor for the privilege?"
"Wouldn't hear of it. We are happy for'n your interest. Just put in where you seen it - we do have tours come through here and the Lady is keen on it. Maybe send us a copy?"
"Sir, I'll send you three and you'll get all sorts of credit."
With that Michaels took me to another section of the garden I wouldn't have found. It intersects under a portion of where the trellis of the arboretum spans to the Manor, it's quite beautiful with all sorts of orchids lining the walk-way. Just enough sun is good enough.
And there they were, in full bloom. I was eager now to take off my jacket, oblige myself on some cool tea (no cubes, they hadn't any electricity), and a stool.
I made two first runs on the yellow and the purple, making swaths from the corner to the center - arriving at a fair conclusion. I will do the second one on my visit. I put the color on my finger and put it near the flower."Close?"
"Colors change with light. Today is a bit cloudy, but hot. Tomorrow may be different. I'll get it close it enough." With that, I took my thin charcoals and sketched their forms.
Whistle. "I t'ain't e'er seen one draw that quickly afore!"
I had what I needed even I didn't come back. But I like the place and the tea is fine.
"See you tomorrow!"
...
As I walked off the estate with tools in tow and my jacket hung off my shoulder, I sported a young belle on the walkway. She was peculiarly out of place for the time. I guessed it was a costume ball of some kind. She was absolutely perfect in every way. Flawless skin, proud cheekbones, glimmering green eyes and fiery dark red hair. She walked with pride, with back as straight as the statues I had just left.
"Sir."
"Miss." I wanted to pull her aside for even a second, but her gait was such I didn't expect to stop her. She did keep me in her periphery for the slightest of seconds before moving on.
I paused. I couldn't help watching her walk away. As a lady should, she did not turn around once. God bless her.
Another reason to show up tomorrow.
...
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