Flowers of Color

Looking outside, there were all her favorite flowers, Callas of every color, all but those boring white ones. Clara loved her garden overflowing with every shade and shape possible, except for those reminding her of her aunt's funeral home full of decent - no, deadly dull was it! - tints. It had been so liberating to move into this cottage like home with the well hidden green paradise in the backyard.

Outside, the goblet like calyxes looked invitingly, such tempting that Clara unconsciously licked her lips, thirsty for sweet nectar all of a sudden. Elegantly curved petals, their rich play of colors intensified by the warm sunlight, enticed her eyes and fingers to run along the satin surface. The soft, textured edges, a resemblance of parted lips asking to be kissed, glistened with a faint memory of morning dew within the inner folds.

Clara, enrapt by the beauty outside, would soon take care of her favorite one, just one last look to see the wind go through the well-grown stems and make them sway gracefully.