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The small salon
Lost in thought, she took off her hat and placed it on the buffet.
The spicy air filtered through the still-open front door into the hallway, its green silky wallpaper gleaming softly.
Her light taffeta dress rustled softly as she pulled the heavy wooden door shut, then tidied her dark blonde hair.
What she saw there in the mirror pleased her. The green-grey eyes, the slightly tart features, and the gentle smile. She threw herself a sweet kissy mouth and hurried into the small drawing room.
The dim sunlight shimmered softly through the amber curtains, casting a shallow misty orange veil on the silky parquet floor.
The artfully arranged small bouquet of flowers on the graceful smoking table caught her eye. The small yellow tea roses and filigree leafy greenery looked powdered. And of the sweet-melting little delicacies in the étagère she would have a piece in a moment.
As she opened the garden door, the scent of aromatic herb, sweet blossoms, and earth drifted ever so slightly into the room.
She looked at the récamiere, upholstered in muted red, and the large cushion lying on it, velvety and iridescent in golden resin tones, with its cream brocade border.
She would make herself comfortable there in a moment and, as always, nod off quietly.
The spicy air filtered through the still-open front door into the hallway, its green silky wallpaper gleaming softly.
Her light taffeta dress rustled softly as she pulled the heavy wooden door shut, then tidied her dark blonde hair.
What she saw there in the mirror pleased her. The green-grey eyes, the slightly tart features, and the gentle smile. She threw herself a sweet kissy mouth and hurried into the small drawing room.
The dim sunlight shimmered softly through the amber curtains, casting a shallow misty orange veil on the silky parquet floor.
The artfully arranged small bouquet of flowers on the graceful smoking table caught her eye. The small yellow tea roses and filigree leafy greenery looked powdered. And of the sweet-melting little delicacies in the étagère she would have a piece in a moment.
As she opened the garden door, the scent of aromatic herb, sweet blossoms, and earth drifted ever so slightly into the room.
She looked at the récamiere, upholstered in muted red, and the large cushion lying on it, velvety and iridescent in golden resin tones, with its cream brocade border.
She would make herself comfortable there in a moment and, as always, nod off quietly.
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24 Comments
A time travel to the balsamized air of 1912.
I could practically smell that venerable vintage!