jasmin & fleur d'oranger

Depuis 2013 Manhattan

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

The Seashell

Josephine sat down her cup of orange pekoe tea on the coffee table, on the pile of vintage black and white photography books, waiting for Louise to stop pacing back and forth, restlessly,

“Would you care for a cup of chamomile tea?” She asks, as she lifts the tarnished silver coupe filled with peach and pink lipped bourbon roses to check if they require more water.

“No, it’s fine, I’m waiting for a phone call from Ashton, we had a nonsensical argument a few days ago and he’s been very distant. He doesn’t want to discuss the ball or even our future together. He claims he’s too busy with work to distract himself with my trifling needs” Louise complains, as she pulls out a bar of extra dark saffron infused chocolate from her nude alligator Birkin purse, and breaks off a piece before handing the bar to Josephine,

“Oh, well, I thought you weren’t the type to moon and obsess over a gentlemen? That you had far too many interests, passions and dreams to let another person sidetrack you from your goals”

“Yes, but I include my relationships in the overall scheme” Louise defends herself,

“Well, we have the literature festival to organize, the senior girls art exhibit to curate and you are entrusted with curating your grandmothers entire jewelry estate so I’d imagine you also have scant energy to mull over perceived slights and lack of attention from your partner”, Josephine says as she notices a blue finch alight on a blossoming amethyst lilac bush.

Louise walks over to Josephine’s secretary desk by the ajar, white cotton curtained windows and picks up a seashell. “This is gorgeous, look at the blue veins, the opaline bloodlines, it’s startling manipulation of the light”, she says before walking over to the blush pink satin chair to sit down. A few atoms of dusk become entrapped in the iridescence of the shell. Louise lifts it to her nose to take in the perfume of distant seawater.

Josephine, glances at the seashell, sitting so pertly in Louises hand. She wonder if Louise remembers; One summer, decades ago, when they were boarders at the lady’s college, Louise had invited a few of the girls to her family villa in the French Mediterranean. Josephine hadn’t been included in the gang of girls who later returned after the holidays, to their little town, spilling over with rollicking tales of almond ice-cream, lavender fields, kisses under lantern lit cypresses, orange and olive trees, burnt caramel tans and illicit escapades with local boys. They also brought seashells they had gathered at Cassis. One day when the girls were horse riding, Josephine remained in the dormitory, to read her books and practice piano, but she took one of the shells from Louise’s collection. She kept it hidden until, much later when she found it, during a visit after university, in her decrepit leather suitcase at her parents attic, bringing it back to her small apartment, near the grounds of the school when she became the headmistress. It didn’t seem fair that Louise had both the holiday as well as the beautiful seashells. Josephine tries to push back the fog of memory.

“Your right, Josie, as usual, why bother with someone who can’t spare the time, I know he feels compelled to continue the relationship to fulfill his role in society, and the expectations that accompany his status, but it would be better, for the state of my heart, if he were open about the commercial nature of our relationship.” She puts the shell down gently, before turning to look at Josephine, directly, “You don’t know how lucky you are to choose your own destiny, like a shell floating in the sea”.

TBC

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

The Fete of Moths and Fireflies

Josephine looks expectantly at Louisa as they sit down on a striped robin’s egg blue cotton blanket, by the blossoming roses in the school estates gardens.

“Thank you for joining me today”, Louisa says as she picks up a stray strand of bunnies’ tail grass from the ripe mango pink  silk dress she is wearing.

“Of course,” Josephine replies, her eyes following the path of a scarlet and peach butterfly over a drift of earl gray larkspur, the sun peeking hesitantly from a lush summer swept cloud, casting songs and memories, tainted with the poetry of far off days. “Do you remember, we would sneak away from music class to pick bluebonnets and violets in the juniper woods?”

“Oh, yes, we would sometimes hike to the beach and swim in the sea, to the house mistresses dismay!” Louisa exclaimed, giggling.

“Well, I still feel guilty for playing hooky, I should return to the library to help Mrs. Ship sort through the old girl’s donated poetry volumes” Josephine replies, looking back at the formidable roman pillars lining the ivy smothered, stone and brick façade of the main school building.

“Don’t fret, darling Josie, we have more vital issues to discuss, such as the ball. I wanted to prepare you for the type of party it will be.”

“Oh, are you worried I will be dejected if it isn’t as charming as the ball in “Pride and Prejudice”, or merely, that it may not reveal as unbearably poignant romance, imagination and dreams.”

“No, I wanted to warn you, that the correct reference would be closer to “Les Liaisons Dangereuses”, Louisa says, “but, don’t be wary, there may be a bit of relief, after the dancing, in our frilly and floaty dresses, the men in suits, as the jasmine blooms in the gardens. It will be a moth and firefly incanted festival, bathed in the full moon, serenaded by the most gifted musicians, the magical brew of our own anticipation, as well as days of the estates gardeners lighting hidden corners with candles and potted tuberose, the polished and poised setting for haunting love affairs, maidenly contests for suitable men and other foibles of human nature. You must be careful about your reputation as well as your heart” she affirms.

“How promising” Josephine says, as her creamy pale pink beribboned hat falls onto the grass, as she turns to look up at the sky.

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

A Bed of Peonies

Louisa gazes at the bed of peonies and lilac trees as she sits on a wrought iron bench by the water fountain on the school grounds. She can hear the ancient trees sip the dew on the grass and the faint shuffle of girl’s waking to dress in their starched and pressed uniforms, spray contraband perfume and prepare for the day. She opens her diary and plays with her silver pen, opening a page at random and reading through.

An Anthology of Ephemerality’s:

The first few chords of a beloved nostalgia laden song. The way the hummingbird’s wings flutter before they plunge into the nectar. The afternoon light scorching through the mist. The discourse of palm trees. The windchimes sudden animation on a still day. The sprinklers tempting the viridian grass. A slowly whirling fan somebody forgot to turn off. Sitting under trees and watching the falling, sparkling emerald branches converse with the wind. A peek of errant peach silk through Japanese screens. An extra day you thought had already passed. Coming back to somebody you cannot live with, but cannot live without.  Happening upon a used copy of a rare book you have been seeking. The heartbeat between the hesitation and the kiss.  The spiraling pattern of light on the water. How we can both regret time wasted but remember its charm. An overgrown bush of bougainvillea and queen of Sheba vines. Sailing on a small boat down a river with a glass of champagne, a lush pink and persimmon dusk and a piano performance. Being the women with the reddest lips at the cocktail party. The undefinable and undiminishing glow of wit and intelligence. Asking the light its secrets that it determinedly plots to conceal.  The gift of patience that disperses the clouds of the future. The last line of a thick novel that shatters the border between reality and dreams. When the light crowns the tip of the piney mountains. When you sleep in longer under your tender duvet. The perfume of marigolds mingling with vanilla musk incense at an Indian beach wedding. The frothy cappuccino served under a stripped and scalloped pink awning at a French café, swinging high into the lavender sky framed by palm trees and voluptuous fuchsia bougainvillea, learning to love the empty spaces in your home that is filled with mist and dreams.  Preparing a chicken roast redolent with summer herbs and wine. Switching back your manicure to “ballet slippers” after a brief, scintillating affair with “fiesta” pink.  Anticipating a few new green plants and a pair of delicate pink rose toile patterned cushions for your sofa. Spending a full afternoon reading design magazines and suggestive poetry with impunity. Taking a brief reprieve with orange blossom madeleines and tea. Buying just one more white lace dress. Knowing the time that you were happy and carefree can never be taken from you. Dreaming of the rose suffocated cottage with both lily ponds and the sea. Having scant control in adding to your seashells, candles and perfume collection. Hoping your words help somebody even if they fail to help you. Grateful for your loyal audience of wild birds and royal purple periwinkle. Receiving a package of saffron from an old lover for paella and aperitifs. Realizing that while we are struggling to hold everything together, the trees around us are pushing us up. Remembering to thank the day for giving us the candle lit night. Reading the luscious constellations and becoming satiated with the heavens. Sprinkling the soft cotton sheets with lavender and rose water.

Louisa, lifts her pen and begins to write again, before the school bell rings.

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

The Flowers That Cry.

Josephine opens her piece of notepaper and looks at the girls peering at her from the pavilion at the rose garden. They are gathered today to harvest flowers to arrange into bouquets and send to the children’s hospice in town.  “Here is a piece written by Lila Cavendish, who was one of the girls at Montauk Ladies College before she passed away. Please consider the magic and charms as you dwell among the blooms today. Thank you.”

  There are flowers for every occasion and every moment upon earth.

Flowers for when you want to forget.                                                

Flowers for when you want to remember.                                  

Flowers for gentle dreams.                                                    

Flowers to bring forth the rain.

Flowers for a broken engagement .

Flowers to banish the nightmare.

Flowers to assuage the tears.

Flowers to compensate.          

Flowers for a walk in the woods.

Flowers for tea and cake.

Flowers for a lazy day.

Flowers for your hair.

Flowers for when you forget perfume.

Flowers for when you want to say sorry.

Flowers peeking through jail cells.

Flowers for the simple.

Flowers for when you receive sad tidings.          

Flowers for when there is no view.

Flowers for painting.

Flowers to slow down the flow of time.  

Flowers for your bathwater.

Flowers you didn’t know you needed.

Flowers you lost.

Flowers from the future.

Flowers that think they are stars.

Flowers that cure amnesia.

Flowers that run away with the clouds.

Flowers that make us humble.

Flowers that reveal ourselves.

Flowers that are shy.      

Flowers that heal.

Flowers that cry.            

Flowers that steal from the night.

Flowers that may be angels.

Flowers that premediate joy.

Flowers that put out fires.

Flowers that rob the dusk.

Flowers that prove the theory.

Flowers that cast spells.

Flowers for a summer picnic.

Flowers to unchain us.

Flowers that release shimmers into the air.

Flowers to complete the wine and chocolates.

Flowers to put under your pillow.

Flowers for the weary.

Flowers that give us envy.

Flowers that teach us about light.

Flowers to forfeit the pain.

Flowers to tempt.

Flowers we love today but hate tomorrow.

Flowers that drift between parallels.

Flowers that withhold judgment.

Flowers that hold back the wretched morning.

Flowers to press between the pages of a book.

Flowers to star in a song.

Flowers that retreat from us.

Flowers that hasten closer.

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

Tobacco & Lavender

Cassandra De Miele, lights a row of ivory pillar candles embedded with chamomile, musk, tobacco and lavender blossoms that she has custom ordered from the perfumer, she moves towards the mother of pearl inlaid side tables and lifts the polished silver pot holding blood pink carnations, blush parrot roses, double peonies and renaissance cream dahlias to place on the middle of the antique lace adorned cherry table. She discerns the butler as he makes his way down the wide, curved marble staircase to open the front door. It is followed by murmurs, the sound of laughter and the staccato rhythm of high heels barely muffled by the oleander leaf green and wild clematis purple Persian carpet. Louisa must be making her way to the kitchen to say hello to the nanny, who is helping the cook craft rose and pink pepper daiquiris for the séance guests.

 Cassandra has asked a few of her oldest friends and their daughters to join her for an evening of poetry, music and spiritual pursuits. The “Lavender Literary Society” invitations had been sent a few weeks before as part of a series of events leading to the grand country ball. She had asked all the guests to wear dresses of “one % pink”, the lady with the lightest pink, similar to the light of a June morning just before the first mourning doves depart their nests to hunt for berries, would win a year’s supply of imported rare orchids from her island farm.

 Louisa, taps lightly on the door.

 “Come in”, Cassandra say’s as she smooths her pearl pink silk shift and slowly sits down on the buttercream satin chaise lounge.

 “Oh, am I early?” Louisa inquires, she is holding the parchment invitation with its loosened emerald green satin ribbon, “My invitation say’s the cocktails begin at 9pm”.

 “No, my darling, I had the calligrapher print yours so you could come earlier and we could have a little discussion”.

 “Mother, it never ceases to amaze me the lengths you go, to manipulate the world”, Louisa pouts, before perusing, the side board laid out with tea sandwiches, lilac and violet macarons and cook’s dark chocolate hazelnut cake. “Oh, I wish you had invited Josephine, she would adore joining a literary society, discussing dead writers and would also play the piano happily all night”.

 “Well, I wanted to discuss the séance this evening, the ladies hope to attract the spirits to help guide and console us, we need a balm to soothe our everyday anxieties, it is like lavender oil applied after a burn”.

 “You take this far too seriously”, Louisa says, “I am certain most of us realize that we cannot rely on other world sources for insight and must attempt to decipher the mystery ourselves”.

 “Yes, but, women need every resource at their disposal to attract and retain their power”, Cassandra says, “Have you met Ashton recently?” She is concerned as she had received a missive from a friend informing her that she had spotted Louisa leaving a quaint country hotel minutes before a certain ex-boyfriend made his way to his beaten down car.

  “No, mother, I have been occupied with the school, we have had a few plays, picnics and campus visits, I may be accompanying the girls later overseas, so I have been inundated with work”.

 “I cannot believe the girls are the reason you are so occupied, my darling, I don’t care how many lovers you have, but you must make sure to secure a future” Cassandra says firmly.

 “You are being insulting, Mother”, Louisa says, quietly, as a few of the flames shiver and send bittersweet sparkles past the air to the waterfall crystal chandelier. “I am leading my life and I may choose simplicity over the strings that come with the family trust”.

 “No darling, I am merely empowering you, take your pleasure, do travel with the girls, be discreet and canny, there is very little room for clumsiness”.

 “I find it discomforting that you suggest I lead a man, I barely know for advantage, while I fool around to satisfy myself with someone I may be presently more attracted to.” Louisa says, quickly looking as her phone and noting that her old boyfriend, Phillip has texted, asking her to come and see him later.

 “My beautiful daughter, men act this way with no qualms, why must you worry, your father and I desire that you make a good match, but we do not want you to sacrifice all the light, ecstatic, healing and mysterious moments in your life by being constrained by artificial limits of society.””

 “But, I intend to marry for love”, Louisa says, “Let’s use the séance to seek what love may find its way to me”.

 “Yes, that is a wishful and romantic ideal, but love and marriage are often not tied together like twine.”

 “So, I have been told many times, I am trying to find the magic with another, the kind that frees my heart in a rushing, carefree melody, from its customary home, so yes, I will also attempt to meet Ashton before the ball, between my other suitors”.

 “That is all I wanted to hear” Cassandra says, smiling.

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

Reverie and Nectar

Louisa sits by a drowsily whirling stream running through the property of the school, she dwells upon a delicate kantha from her travels in Asia, under a large blossoming horse chestnut tree, she sips mocha spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon through an old hunting flask, she found in the orangerie and watches a bank of staggeringly blue hydrangea tilting mesmerizingly lifted higher on a soft, phantom wind. She peruses through a stack of thick, Japanese papers inscribed with sentences by her pupils. She had asked them to write an idea or thought on “floating”. They girls would soon put the little papers into a balloon and release them into the air during the “romance and betrayal” festival.

 A drunken bee comes to land on library purple irises by the shimmering stream as she gazes at each note.

 -I want to float like a memory of dancing.

-I am disarmed by the golden light floating on my grandmother’s roses.

-I don’t float, I am an anchor.

-I dream of floating like a ship carrying tuberoses, orange trees and vanilla.

-I float like a perfume enroute to my lover.

-Lets all float away so we never have to grow up.

-I envy the floating cherry petals, they never know pain.

-I float like a sea, like a million seas.

-My mind floats, it is immune to gravity.

-I float like a wild emerald parrot through the ripening mango trees.

-My best holiday memories are of floating in the savage, salty ocean at dawn.

-The stars float their haunting secrets down to me.

-My dress floats in the light when I walk in the park.

-I remember my mother teaching me to float in the cove behind our cottage.

-I emulate the pattern of dust floating when I dance.

-I shall never learn to float, because I’ll return to being a mermaid.

-Why does love float so gently, but drown so deeply?

-When the music floats, I chase it. 

-I imagine heaven floating all around us, and am sad because we cannot see.

 Louisa, lays the stack to rest, to read later as she takes a few more sips from her flask and watches the bee take off to other lover’s dripping nectar in the reverie laced afternoon.

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

A Midsummer Sky

Josephine writes in her diary:

 In a reverie, I am riding a tea black horse by the sea, with silver licked edges of foamy surf melding wildly into the sand that is as soft as the light of a summer solstice. It’s the longest day of the year in solar lashings and of mystery. I have no accounting for time and deliberately abandon mundanities. After galloping past a grove of hypnotically perfumed white butterfly grazed lavender, honeysuckle and poet ivory roses, I am as unburdened as the reprieve gifted after a restless sleep, I tether the horse to a monkey pod tree bordering the edge of infinitesimal tiny shelled sands and foray into the undulating water, slowly, like the sun lingering in the midsummer sky, tempting me to forget that it is shortening tomorrow. Soaking breathlessly in the healing ministrations of the sea, a breeze lifts the waves higher, seemingly pulled by seven invisible threads from the galaxy beyond the river blue beginnings of the sky. A coven of seagull’s swoop into the twilight bejeweled sand to peck at viridian jellyfish and overturn secret etched sand-dollars. I float in bliss watching the light drip orange nectar onto the surface, with the ripples dance in quiet ecstasy in harmony with a feathery gust. I see a lapis bottomed cloud calming crown a guard of coconut palm trees and bushes of wild frangipani. The sea responds to the tipping of the earth, a bit aloof, like a lover withdrawing imperceptibly after a caress. I withdraw also, from the rhyming tides, swimming furtively back to the land, and to the horse, taking a sumptuous cotton towel from by pack, and wrapping it like a consolation, before sitting under the attenuating branches of the tree, sipping the last illumination, as the puffs of atmosphere bruise closer to the beating horizon. I am beguiled by the alchemy as the lilac purple, as it is set a tinder, with stained summery berry pinks, engagement blush, ripening mango and flushed peach, the water reacts by taking the painterly hues and translating it into its story. The jean jacket blue descends lower, while the smoky amethyst dissipates into the diluted blood hues above it. My heart tries to deny the pain, attempting to stay the last trimester of June, I blink to sweep away the poignant melancholy as a quick egret dashes past, outrunning the black cap of night.  But, I continue to witness as the line of inky blue loiters by the violet lace of the sea and the ripening eggplant of the sky while the bleached coral finally consummates with the orchid and heather purples, I realize I must depart as the tree retires deeper into the mercurial sand, moths fleet in the mist, there are shimmers and flashes of fishes embarking upon their nocturnal hunts and I smell the perfume of opening jasmine from the arboreal hills above. I light my candle and ride back home.  

 Josephine puts her calligraphy pen down as the school bell’s chime and she leaves the grounds, to meet Louisa and join the lantern lit celebrations in town, anticipating new half dreams and half memories in the navy velvet Midsummer night.

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

Truth of Roses

   Josephine opens the water colored paper box of Mexican vanilla and lemon shortbread, she finds it on her desk on Monday morning, the creamy, tropical and delicately sweet perfume slowly diffuses into the liminal light swirling from her bountiful French windows, the heavy silk curtains drawn aside, she wonders who has sent it.

  She takes a sip of her tea, from a delicate tiny rose patterned china cup, gazing into the wispy dust falling onto the mother of pearl vase of honeysuckle, sweet alyssum and “Diana” roses from the grounds.  She remembers her first day at the school, in a time that is as lost as forgotten tears, she had turned twelve, her uncle and aunt, promised her that she would be starting at a new school and that she would make friends with girls of the best families, be taught by excellent teachers, and be trained in all the arts and manners befitting a lady. In the morning before she would be dropped off at the school, she found the pressed and starched uniform, tied in a peach satin bow, the gray of the skirt mimicking the mist falling on the countryside, next to a soft cashmere shamrock green sweater with the school’s name, “Alchemy College” hand embroidered in white.  

 “Come on darling” her Aunt Chloe say’s, “You are immensely lucky to receive this scholarship, we do not know who the benefactor is, but we accepted the opportunity, once the solicitor’s informed us of it. We were a bit surprised by the sudden offer, but after many long discussions we couldn’t deprive you of the chance.  We will miss you here at the farm”. She looks away, resting her gaze onto the crabapple tree framing the window.

 “Will there be a library there?” Josephine asks, quickly packing her collections of bird eggs and seashells into the worn trunk, nearly knocking over a blue and white decanter of lacy pink dahlias and ivory and ebony poppies.

 “Yes” Aunt Chloe, “The very best selection, you will be prepared for the highest academies of learning and knowledge”.

 “May, I come back here, if I don’t like it?” Josephine asks, timidly.

 “My love, you will always have a home here with us, but remember, your uncle and I do not have the means to give you the quality of education and the network of peers that you are about to experience, you must seize it, as you are exceedingly blessed to be offered the spot in the class”

 “But, I am happy here, with you and Uncle Allistair” Josephine replies.

 “Hush, you will acquire many new friends, act in plays, sing songs in Spanish and French, dance, play tennis, attend balls with the boarding school boys in the neighboring town, and be so occupied you will not miss us very much at all”.

 “Now, darling, the Butterfly Express train will leave soon, meet me by the clematis gazebo, your uncle wants to take a photograph on this auspicious day”.

 Later, on the train a porter brings her a little unaddressed celadon green velvet box, it contains a calligraphy pen, ink, a hand stitched soft pink leather diary and a small water-colored cotton pouch of the lemon and vanilla shortbread cookies.  A small tag in the shape of a fleur de lis attached states: “The truth shall set you free”.

 Josephine’s distant reverie is broken as one of the student’s piano playing filters through the dewy air.

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

The Light Through Harem Windows

Louisa takes the empty peach satin seat next to Josephine at the bridal shower for the departing teacher. Cascades of deep afternoon light strike musical notes through the large harem windows upon the pistachio and cream stenciled floors. The space is illuminated with dimmed chandeliers and small tarnished gold rimmed teacups with narcissus, cherry blossoms and clementine pink tulips. Louisa helps herself to a slice of dark chocolate cake with a hazelnut caramel frosting. A few of the other invited ladies glance at her, before quickly turning away, as she asks the waiter for a coupe of champagne with elderberry blossoms.

 “I couldn’t find a white dress at my apartment, so I wore this one, Louisa says as she turns to admire Josephine’s prim white lace dress with an old-fashioned collar and infinite mother of pearl buttons lining the back. She quietly wonders who could possibly help Josephine button her confection of a dress.

 “Well, I suppose “wanton pink” is a suitable substitute for the dress code”, Josephine replies dryly.

 “I thought it would make it more festive” Louisa says, taking a small bite of her cake on the delicate iris china plate.

 “Well, Eudora, looks so content, she is hardly ever frazzled, everything she does is shrouded with serenity, even a wedding” Josephine comments about the English teacher, who is making her way from table to table and exchanging greetings with her guests.

 “Oh yes, I cannot understand the women who make such a fuss about the wedding” Louisa says, checking her phone, “It’s just a ritual, like any other”.

 “Really?” Josephine asks.

 “Yes, I am sure when I marry, it will be plotted, scripted and organized by my mother, I would relinquish all control, I would only ensure the DJ plays all night, if I am to be chained to one person for all time, I might as well dance with everyone I can”

 “Oh, Louisa you are so jaded, it takes away from your glow” Josephine reprimands.

 “What about you? Will you be a crazy bride to be?” Louisa asks half interestedly, she is expecting a call from an old boyfriend who said he would be in town and might call her later this weekend.

 “Yes, I dream about my wedding everyday”, Josephine says, blushing and shyly looking away.

 “I am surprised, you told me you didn’t want to become a man’s property and wanted to be free” Louisa says, looking puzzled.

   “Yes, but I love the cultural aspect even if I am not always sure of whether to marry or remain alone” Josephine asks, “I apologize for being complex and contradictory, like the sky and the waves, we live in nuances of emotions and desires, after all”.

 “Oh, it does, Ashton told me he is attending Eudora’s fiancé’s bachelors party night, I have an old love coming in for it, and I have a feeling it won’t be about white dresses and tea.

 Louisa notices that Josephine looks distracted and is looking out the windows as a wren alights on the magnolia tree outside. Louisa knows that Josephine is already bored and couldn’t be bothered discussing men, marriage or love for very long.

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

Wild Grape Hyacinth

Josephine walks past the yew tree lined driveway and quietly skips through the ornate gates with the school name crafted into the iron by long ago craftsman. It is early enough for her to visit the antiques market before she must be present to meet with the girls, parents and other sundry individuals demanding her opinion or her interventions. She quickly walks into the market space as the vendors are setting up their stalls, she is on the hunt for a botanical print or tenderly beautiful tea set to give to Louisa as a gift at the teachers luncheon at the Haunted Magnolia Café. It is a mere token to thank her for the invitation to the summer country ball that she has been anticipating with a potpourri of excitement, trepidation and longing.

 Josephine meanders through the dusty pathways, almost tripping on an old ships anchor, she lightly strokes a pair of tattered ballet slippers and picks up a crystal goblet of perfume, she breathes in a surprising potent aroma of ambergris, tuberose and pink pepper, the formula must be bespoke, she imagines it might have been designed for a duchess eager to intoxicate and pleasure a lover. She spends more time then wise going through a selection of old French poetry books, looking for her beloved poems, slowing reading and cherishing a version of “La Claire Fontaine”.

 She catches a glimpse of a glass covered tray, in it lays a curated selection of estate jewelry, she pauses, she really shouldn’t look at it, she wants something more useful then adornment itself. But she is pulled towards the case, she asks the antiques dealer to show her a thin bracelet encrusted with diver pearls in a delicate gold setting. He moves with concentration and slowly takes it out and presents it to her, the piece is so finely crafted it is almost weightless in her hands, there is a tiny screw that she must be loosened to wear the bracelet. On a whim, Josephine purchases the bracelet, she is told it belonged to the estate of a lady who had many admirers but no descendants. Josephine pays more then she had intended for the gift. But, she reasons as she wanders back to the school, gathering a few wild grape hyacinths in the dale, the breathtaking site of the bracelet on the cream egg velvet, the way it mesmerized the hazy morning light streaming through the cathedral windows, mixed with the way it made her feel to pick it up and touch it, persuaded her that it was a piece that must be worn and treasured by a beautiful person.

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

A Parrot Named Gigi

Louisa De Miele, walks home from the yoga studio in the town center. She feels exuberant, light and clear headed after her session, tranquilly breathing in the perfume of juniper trees and wild thyme.  She is pondering the tender wind billowing through the giant cedar by her tiny studio nestled in the staff quarters of the boarding school. As usual, she is eager to return to the space, it features unkempt piles of old books, fragile collections of heirloom blue and white Dutch dishware, mint julip cups filled with lavender, wild painted patterns and prints, a vivid green parrot named Gigi, overflowing duchess pink geraniums and a striped orchid collection in copper pots, abandoned by one of the previous teachers who had left to get married. Louisa, adored her time there, keeping the winking pink painted windows open to let in the rhapsody of free song birds and the perfume of honeysuckle and lime blossoms.

 Louisa often invited groups of her students over for Parisian tea and home-made pistachio and cardamom cake, she loved these quiet hours, while the girls choose their favorite botanical print cushions, lamb’s wool covered chair or faded spot on the old celadon, silver and peach silk carpet, she let them ask her questions about life, university, future goals and delicate dreams.  They borrowed books but seldom returned them, or asked her about concerts and films they should see, sampled her perfume collection, or asked about the places she had traveled. Some of girls whiled away their summers at crumbling family piles, others drifted on yachts along the Mediterranean, some volunteered at development projects in Asia or Africa, a few with bohemian parents lived off the grid in treehouses in the Costa Rican rain forests, but they all voraciously drunk in her own adventure tales as a single women and artist. Before she passes through the canopy of snowy white roses with lychee pink stripes, she pauses for a second to gaze at the burnt seashell sky floating with tiny schools of stars.

 After a while, in the main building, she hears the hum of the girls moving from the common rooms, shutting their pianos, closing their composition books, tidying their embroidery, whispering to each other as the make their way to the dormitories. She wishes they could stretch their nights together as students, explorers and seekers as far as possible, to temper their music trailing into adult life and its heartbreaking heaviness.

 Of late, she has been contemplating canceling the country house weekend with Ashton, for, instead of anticipating the midsummer gala event, she had come to dread it profusely. She did not want to disappoint Ashton or Josephine, and upset her Mother. She would have to dwell upon it further, but first she couldn’t wait to light the chipped ship lanterns in the private tiled courtyard bursting with sweet peas, nigella and delphiniums, turn on her radio, lay bare her heart for the haunted mysteries swirling into the night and dance.

 TBC

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

Irises by the Pond

      Ashton rides his forest green bicycle with his old university friend, Hugh, catching up before work. They pass onto a cobblestone road and both dismount and walk their cycles to the paved area heading into the cherry and cedar woods by the lake.  They ride further as the glimmering sun rises slowly in the east, painting the sky in crushed pink silks, sweet potato oranges and iridescent purple scales. They reach a small clearing by a hidden lily pond with banks overcrowded with striped irises and wild lily of the valley. 

 Hugh, pulls out a Hudson Bay blanket and a thermos of coffee and hands a chipped tin eggshell yellow cup to Ashton,

 “Here are some pistachio and fig scones, Arabella, baked for us, when I told her about our outing”.  Hugh says, handing Ashton, a parchment paper with a warm scone wrapped in gold and white baker’s twine.

 “Arabella finds a way to make every moment utterly pleasurable, you’re a lucky man”, Ashton says, taking a bite and letting a stream of crumbs fall onto the blanket.

 “Well, she has been planning for the ball at the countryside for weeks, is excited and fairly blooming in anticipation, one might think she is expecting a new lover. By the way, your mother sent a note reminding us of the masquerade, I have to go through the attic for the old Oxford drama props” Huge says, sipping his coffee.

 “So, are you still cavorting with the incandescent red-haired business school intern?” Ashton says, lackadaisically stroking a patch of chamomile.

 “Well, I thought we might discuss a few more substantial matters” Huge says, avoiding the question and picking up some charcoal river stones to throw into the pond, but he pauses as a   pair of swan’s float slowly past, regarding them with quiet charm and grace.

 “Oh, did you come to insist that I move matters forward with Louisa, it seems to be what the universe requires of me?” Ashton asks.

 “No, I was hoping to discuss your representing my company in one of its acquisitions” Huge says, “But, yes, we are all hoping you make a move, Louisa is a well brought up and wonderful girl”.

 “You don’t even know her well”, Ashton says, grabbing a bunch of the chamomile and scattering the petals into the pond.  “In fact, neither do I, she seems sensitive and artistic, but I feel a lack of connection thus far, our exchanges are pleasant yet lack vitality, she is almost a bit like a man in some ways, she jumps out of bed before I do”.

 “I’m surprised” Huge says, “I thought you had decided to keep dating her seriously, I would advise to dwell less on your emotional judgment and more upon reason, she would be a great asset and a woman who is independent will bother you far less”.

 “It’s not merely emotions, I sense a lack, a space, oceans, depths and voids between us, I feel alone when I am with her it’s hard to describe” Ashton says, “I think we both resent our families and friend’s expectations about our relationship”.

 “So the ball won’t lead to an engagement?” Hugh asks.

 “I am still testing the waters” Ashton says, “Thankfully as a man, I have more time”.

 “Well, though time is currently at your disposal, you might lose a union with a beautiful character and personality” Hugh warns, reaching for another scone.

 “Perhaps, I haven’t experienced enough of the beautiful women you speak of, or I intend to find blisses of every kind within a marriage, so I am expecting more from the woman I consider.” Ashton says.

 “Well, they say only birds are monogamous, but I’ll allow your romantic ponderings” Hugh says, “by the way, yes, my intern has become indispensable to my needs, Arabella is occupied with our beach cottage renovations, I often think she sees me as both decorative yet useful”.

 “Well, after these meeting with my married friends, I am hardly enthused to the institution” Ashton says, frowning.

 “Well, it’s a tradition and we know how most of these favor our overall goals, oh by the way, will there be hunting?”.

 “Yes, I will ask the gamekeeper to brief me” Ashton replies, “Please have your intern send over the details for the acquisition, or maybe send her to me and I’ll get what I need”.

TBD 

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

Emerald Earrings

  Louisa, watches as the waiter pour’s chamomile tea from the bone china blue and white floral teapot into her cup. Once he puts it down, she drops a swirl of cream and a silver teaspoon of honey from the petite jar. She allows the delicate steam to twirl into the storied air and mingle with the fragrance of thick linen table skirts, the cut crystal vase of amethyst anemones and prepubescent peach carnations and the polished old cherry floors of the hotel. An errant light from the heavy chandelier ricochets from the thick strand of apple blossom white pearls from her mother’s neck and lands in a lullaby onto the copper pot of a blossoming orange tree.

 “I wanted to give you these earrings for the trip to the country house” Cassandra De Miele say’s as she takes out a faded peacock blue satin jewelry pouch. “These were your great grandmother’s emerald studs that she was given to by her parents as a school leaving present before she moved to Paris. You remember she had great success meeting nobles and other society.”

 “Oh, you mean the actress, yes Nanny told me she met and posed for some bohemian artists and painters. Oh Mother, you shouldn’t, you know how little I care for stones, they weigh me down when I want to dance, or take off for a long hike through mossy forests” Louisa smiles, while she takes out the pair, the green matches a few hues from the palm tree wall paper, it is a green more alive than she had ever seen. “Well, thank you, I shall wear them with my nude lace dress the night of the dance”.  She puts them on so she could check them in the ornate mirrors outside the restaurant.

 “Darling, you must try your best to meet and charm everyone, Ashton has a wide circle of acquaintances, I hear that a few more eligible men will be in attendance including some that are as old as our own family. Ashton, is lucky to be courting you, we have raised you with every refinement and your beauty and intelligence are celebrated” Cassandra says, as she delicately picks up a thin cucumber sandwich.

 “It this why you asked me here today? To plot and scheme, so I have the same life as you?” Louisa asks, unable to control her temper, she takes a fig and walnut tart, she feels so angry with her mother for trying to impose her values, ideas and opinions on her, she knew she would have to eat a baby kale salad and ride the horse for a few miles on the school grounds in the morning to work off the anxiety.

 “No, heaven forbid, I came to remind you to have a wonderful and perhaps even scandalous time, I have so many fond memories of visiting the Island, with low floating drifts and clouds of heather, the breezes themselves possess a poetic sensibility” Cassandra says, nibbling her sandwich, “Of course, these invitations are submerged in traditions and expectations, you should revel in every aspect”

 “Well, I decided to take Josephine with me, for additional entertainment, she can go on for hours on her latest subjects of intense study, from botany, alchemy, philosophy and literature”

 “Sweetheart, is this a wise idea?” Cassandra says, “She is very attractive in her serious demeanor and many gentlemen find the quiet and peaceful energy quite alluring, why would you share your opportunities and chances?”

 “Mother, please, this isn’t a war for scarce resources, its merely a holiday where I invited a lonely friend, Josephine is so standoffish, she barely had any dates while we were at Alchemy College and seldom since then”.

 “Louisa, one of your trust funds may wither in a few years, though your father and I would be happy to support you in your dancing and volunteer teaching, you might not have the same life to which you have grown accustomed” Cassandra says, in a slight warning.

 “I thought my trust was solid” Louisa asks, slightly startled, she knew that her mother would bring this up, to gain leverage so that Louisa would acquiesce to her desires of settling down and having a family.  

 “Well, there are ways it may be depleted before time” Cassandra says, “Those earrings look so beautiful, they match verdant flecks in your eyes”.

 “Thank you, Mother, I shall treasure them”, Louisa says. She realizes again, that she would have to use her wits and talents so could find a way to discover bliss beyond the invisible chains all around her. 

 TBC

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

Honeysuckle Bonfire

 Josephine walks under the moon shot black iris night past the woods of cedar trees, she smells the perfume of honeysuckle mingling with garlicky roast chicken from the groundkeeper’s cottage, his wife must be putting out their supper, she knows it is bound to be scrumptious, wine and herb speckled and made in a tender reverie, for the wife is kind and sometimes sends a plate of her luscious fare to Josephine so doesn’t have to eat the school dinners.  

 Earlier this evening, Josephine had turned down an invitation from one of the single fathers, he had invited her to a concert in town, but it coincided with the weekend in the country with Louisa and Ashton.  She feels jubilant, walking along the humming earth dipped in forget me nots and moss, she is unusually vibrant and elated with the new social opportunities, lighter and less troubled by the years of loneliness, of feeling shut out from the world, from her married girlfriends who feature in unalterable scripts of gentle routines and customs.

 Josephine stumbles upon pine perfumed bonfire in the middle of the clearing.  The senior girls are lingering on the old citron and amethyst Persian rug from the common room, like a coven of witches, there are French jam jars of tea light candles scattered throughout with little silver coups of wildflowers, they are attired in their well washed white cotton summer sleep shirts, with fresh apricot pink rosebud crowns around their hair. She can’t hear them but they appear animated, exchanging stories and dreams, she watches as a few get up to dance to the euphoric music floating from the radio. Josephine feels a tremor of longing, missing her days of untrammeled expectations and unmatched opportunities, where times riddle is easier, its sheer brutality drowned in the joy of youth, in moments that are annotated by cozy heirloom cashmere blankets, delicate blue and white china tea cups of hot cocoa requested from the school cook and tins of chocolate cookies, fruits and cream. The girl who is dancing has been training from a young age, she hopes to move to Paris to dance with a company, she pulls up a few of her classmates, the one’s sitting and discussing literature and poetry and engages them in movement, they let go, laughing and falling and sweeping and flying, unaware that they are being watched by the stars, by nocturnal creatures, by time itself. Josephine turns back she doesn’t want to intrude into their enchantment.  

TBC

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

Boutique Hotels

Ashton Stuart, is peeved at being woken up by the text message by Louisa,

 “The hours cannot pass soon enough for the trip to the Island. By the way, I am bringing a friend, hope it isn’t too much of a bother x”

 He turned over and accidentally tore the dove white high thread counted flat sheet off the body of the women he had approached last night at the conference, she was sleeping in a curled-up position, her derriere covered in a saintly pink lace panty, he had flirted with her a few times at previous events and last night she had invited him to her hotel lounge for a drink and they ended up kissing over a decanter of sangria. He was serious about Louisa, but firmly believed that a man with cumbersome expectations, truckloads of stresses and unbelievable work obligations had his right to relief. Besides, he knew he wouldn’t hook up with this woman again, he had been excited at the possibility and was already, customarily bored. He considered stealthily sneaking out of her pale gray and seabream green suite and taking an uber back to his own boutique hotel.  He slowly creeped out of bed and found his clothes strewn on the floor, he rushed to put them on, grab his wallet, keys and cellphone and was heading to the door when another text message alert beeped.

 “Please respond to your emails, the partner called, demanding the brief”, it was from his legal assistant.

 Ashton groaned as he stuffed his boarding school tie into his pocket and quietly opened the palm green painted door and stepped on the leaf patterned thick carpeting outside the door. He waited until he got on his uber and took out his cell phone and texted back.

 “I thought about you last night, Louisa, please bring your friend, we can happily accommodate her at Philosophy House, the party will be merrier”.

 He hoped his mother would be satisfied with Louisa’s presence, he had been courting her for a few months, but his family was growing impatient, they all but mandated he date and marry her or someone of her background, nature and beauty or he would be left out of their estate planning. He tried to explain her lighthearted nature and ongoing personal exploration to no avail. He became angry that he couldn’t take his time to get to know her, understand her essence and charm, probe deeper into her idealized veneer, see if it could be a true emotional and intellectual match, and to let it progress naturally, but he shrugged his bitterness off. Ashton was long used to the multitudes of pressure and quietly brewing control. He remembered his father’s voice when he dropped him off his first day at boarding school “Work extra hard to make it look easy”. The family motto was to win at all costs on and off the court.

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

A Rhyming Breeze

    Louisa De Miele piles her tattered robin’s egg blue poetry books back onto the shelf after tabbing some of her beloved pieces, for one of the girls who had requested, “disarming poetry”. She adores reading by an open window with a view of the lake with shimmering wisteria blooming and bejeweled anemones trysting with the dappled light. Louisa believes its particularly necessary to replenish her resources through literature, ideas and philosophies before an important date or conversation. Her temperament improves while dwelling upon delicate emotions and scenes.  She suspects many people underestimate her talents, her vision for the world and her place in it. It doesn’t bother her, however, to carry herself as a simple person who is steadfastly devoted to beauty, dancing, arts, fashions and celebrations. It might make some wary to know how she works extremely hard on acquiring knowledge, jotting down her idea’s and quietly planning for political or social gain. For its easier to let them believe it is handed to her on a sterling silver platter, like her opportune birth, classical beauty and a gentle sensibility.

     One of the candle’s in the votive’s blows out in a rhyming breeze. Louisa is suddenly frustrated, if only she could meet a match in dueling with her wits, many of her suitors become intimidated with her pointed replies, researched anecdotes and deeply thought insights. Hence, she had not married as soon as many had expected her to. She had convinced her family to let her teach, travel and focus on her work, spinning her luck and time to her advantage. Yet, she knew she must decide soon. She’s resolved to choose a mate who left her with ample personal space to think, write and create, who didn’t expect her to be at his command and who encouraged her artistic endeavors. Yet, the number of suitors was dwindling, like the last of the daffodils in early spring.  Ashton had impressed her by bringing her a book by the famous dancer, “Isadora Duncan”, she felt it was a positive gesture, perhaps he might be a man who would nurture her growth and ability.  Ashton was also intensely erudite, a passionate reader, an able sportsman and endowed with many social graces. He had a combination of family standing, wealth, status and his own burgeoning career as a Barrister. Also, he was romantic, in his shyness and his overtures, she blushed at the thought of him and decided to text him soon to tell him that she was eagerly awaiting their idyllic holiday on the Island and that she would bring an old-school friend of hers to join their party.

TBC

[jasmineandorangeblossoms]

Lace and Sweetpea’s

Miss Josephine Bay wanders in the campus walled garden. A pair of jay’s land and bicker on a cedar tree. She decides to pick a few trailing creamy sweet peas for a little old copper cup to send to the English teacher who had been feeling unwell. She ponders over Louisa De Miele’s invitation to the Island. These chances are so rare in her world, cloistered among her books, collected lace dresses, seashells and other ephemera, the wildest event in her calendar was a belly dancing class she might take in the town. She desires to be more fluid and walk like Louisa, like a whisper of a song edging a dream. She surmises perhaps then she might channel more grace and opportunity towards her, perhaps be more charming among company and gentlemen. It also irked her that she had read more books then Louisa and many of the other younger women, thought more deeply upon trying issues, yet she seemed to always say inopportune things. Like asking after a parent who had recently passed, or complimenting a feature a person was sensitive of or laughing too much or little at somebody’s jokes. She often wished the nuances between people were clearer as in books, so she could comprehend subtext, emotive and physical language.

  Yet, despite her awkwardness, she seldom lacks sensitivity towards the girls at the school. For they were petite experiments in developing taste’s, arts, character and deportment, she thrill’s when a chance arises to impart a lesson or when a valuable resource can be mined for them. This afternoon, she intends to peruse the science workshops she might invite to the school. Miss Bay settles the matter as she contemplates a change of scene, a reason to wear her pretty antique gowns and share amusing anecdotes, perhaps even a stolen kiss among heavy velvet curtains and perfumed lily of the valley’s.  She will tell Louisa that she accepts the invitation and makes a note to pick up a few books on leisurely weekending on her kindle this balmy spring evening.  

TBC