Yesteryear Fiction

Lavender
By Lyla Sommersby


I watch the lavender blossoms drift in wind like soft brushes wet with paint, and I remember my knight. Tall, his jaw set strong, holding a smile beneath sky-blue eyes. I remember his voice, his touch, the press of his lips against my skin-- all strong, so strong. I remember the shine of his armor, the red of his crest, the gold edges of noble filigree vining across steel.

I remember it all, and as I remember, the tears bud and run from my eyes. The lavender blossoms that grow over his grave wave like pennants, like lances, and as I hold my heavy belly, quiet my heavy heart, I close my eyes.

I close my eyes, and in the caresses of the wind, I can almost feel him, almost feel his touch, his arms, his hands moving slowly over mine.


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I am a student in Miami, Florida. Painting is my other love.