~Leather & Lace~

~Heathcliff~
Sitting on a bench, with the sides shaped as horses, I am adding the final stitches to my costume. A plain box wrapped in brown paper was left on the writing table in my room. My name was written on the lid. Various printed pink and orange cloth, tulle, ribbons and a strand of pearls are among the contents in the container. A small card lays among the folds of tissue paper. It simply states, 'For your dress. Keep in mind you will wear this at your presentation. Search your heart, search deep and compose a poem to read aloud at the performance. Tomorrow morning wait by the gardens and horse stables for further instruction.'

I clip my last thread and hold the costume out - it's beautiful. I brush the hair piece of brown curls. There is enough material left for a long sash to tie around my head. I sit the curls carefully in the box among the crinkled tissue. I replace the lid.

The vegetable gardens are lovely and bear oversized fruit in between the story book leaves shaped like long hearts. Yellow summer squash gleams in the sun. Two men gently lift one squash from the vine. I see beads of sweat along their foreheads. They shift their balance and tightly grasp the highly varnish vegetable. As they pass me I see morning dew on their prize weight.

The sound of hoofs coming from the white washed stable catches my ears and I turn my head. A white and brown spotted horse is being led by a groom. He stops in front of me and hands me the reins. 'His name is Heathcliff - take care.' He nozzles his cold nose in my hand - his nostrils flare as he breathes in my scent. I scratch between his eyes - what deep brown jewels these are - the color of amber and night. Black oblong pupils stare into mine. His mane is off white, shining, well brushed. One braid shows itself with three dangling bells. It is hard to say how many hands tall he is.

The saddle is English style and smells of soaped leather and oil. An empty saddle bag awaits my custom box. On the opposite side the bag holds a canteen of water, what appears to be a ration of food and a well worn map.

I mount the beast, at once I know I have become his burden as he moves slightly from side to side. I give the time he needs to ajust to my weight. In only a matter of seconds we are off, slowly, surely following the garden path toward an open iron gate.

Patricia ( the picture of the woman in the framed film strip is my Grandmother )
Posted by Picasa