Evangeline in Texas

The sky is gray and balmy, promising much-needed rain. The ground is dry and hard beneath dead yellow grass leaves. It is too late, though: one evening of rain will not revitalize the earth. The grass will have to re-grow from seed.

I watch from my window as clouds gather. There is a pot of tea near my elbow as I always brew a pot of tea after work. I always drink black tea with no sugar or cream in it, in the morning, and when I come home from work.

My tea pot is very old with hairline cracks that my ancestors sealed with gold, as the Japanese tea masters do. The design on the pot is of delicately drawn birds of paradise with long, flourishing tails. The matching cups and saucers have similar exotic paintings and are similarly repaired with gold seal.

Summer is usually my favorite season. Even though I have no vacation to take, I love to think of children playing, I think of the summers of my childhood I spent to myself dreaming and writing, and when I started a new school session, I felt I had lived a whole lifetime in three months. I felt much older.

Now every day is the same for me. The only people I see are Mortimer and Mr. Mort, but they are different from me. I long for another person to share my dreams, my very thoughts, even if they are so melancholy.

Because of summer's drought I have had to stay indoors. The grass has become so stiff it stabbed the soles of my feet through my slim shoes and injured me while I was walking (note: REALLY) through the hay fields. I was confined to bed and missed work. Mr. Mort was displeased.

Now there is a chill in the air, and my favorite season is over. My animal friends are happy, because we will have pumpkin pies and apple cider to celebrate the first day of fall.

I would like to make a new dress for the occasion. It will be the color of amber to match my eyes, a deep, plain dress suitable for reading by the window and holding my animal friends. I am learning to knit, so I will knit a soft ivory shawl over top. With my heavy boots this will be suitable for walking or riding through the fields with Couer.

It is almost dusk now, and time to water my absinthe garden. My wormwood nearly died this summer
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Note: I don't know if I will be able to have an Evangeline, but I dream of her all the time and I have for years. This is my story for Evangeline. Instead of in England, she's in the desolate isolation of rural Texas.

Evangeline and I have much in common. Even our birthdays are close together. My Evangeline has even more things in common with me as she diverges from the original character.