She brushes her hair with her brush, the one with the ivory handle, Papa brought her on his last trip. Staring into the mirror she makes faces like she did when she was a child. How she loved playing this game with Papa. They would take turns making faces and the other had to guess who or what they were imitating. For her it was usually insects or birds and that was where she got her nickname. Papa always called her, “Ma petite Luciole, you are the light of my life.”
Five years have passed since then but she wonders if l’avarice has taken over her Papa, she has started to call monsieur l’étourneau. He says he is still looking for that special treasure and when he finds it, he will return for good. She looks out at the birdfeeder near her bedroom window. She huffs out of frustration. That starling is stealing all the seeds again…such a greedy little thing it can be!
She misses her Papa and especially since her Maman died in childbirth three years ago. She still has a difficult time to be happy around la petite Colibri. They nicknamed her after hearing her moan in her bed at night putting herself to sleep. Pauvre petite Colibri, she thought. She had the same emerald green eyes of Maman. How she craved for the long ago laughter of her Papa.
They had all they needed, she reasoned. Her father had inherited le Manoir des Chèvrefeuilles as well as their maison de campagne in Marseilles when maman passed and yet…
She would write to him later this afternoon, she thought, gazing at her silver pheasant feather quill pen. She would ask Colibri to paint a huge soleil to bring Papa back home soon. She sighs and drapes the silk lavender shawl over her bare shoulders and runs down for le petit dejeuner sur la terasse with her Grandmaman and sister.
Searching for scents
no fragrance compares
this lonely silk road
© Tournesol ’15/11/15
luciole = firefly
étourneau = starling
colibri = hummingbird
maison de campgagne = country home