By: Jessica Goody
Surrounded by lush greenery, the house seems made of trees.
ivy shrouds the weather-worn brick walls and strains upwards,
winding around the moss-furred brick pillars. Heliotrope swells
over the eaves, shrouding the windows in a vivid purple glow.
Curving branches drip with vines thick as pythons, green fronds
curling. Palms spread like parasols beneath the sun-bleached sky.
The room is draped with spice-colored fabrics, strewn with mosquito
nets and sweating stacks of books. A spear stands poised in warning.
Elegant screens linger in corners, shielding the fierce heat of midday.
The tarnished silver service emits the the rich, bitter scent of coffee.
Limoges and Baccarat are incongruous here against the white-glove
gentility of embroidered linen tablecloths greening with mossy mold.
Leaf shadows play in silhouette on the jade lawn, paths leading to
windblown trees, the tufts of their tousled hair fluttering like green
scarves. Mountains roll along the horizon, the painted backdrop of
coffee-colored hills blurring like breaking waves. The ankle-deep
grasses stand coarse and colorless, giraffes galloping against the
endless landscape, avoiding the stealthy golden streaks of lions.