Literary Nonsense

I forgot my hat, the cat on the mat didn’t forget anything, but I did, somehow, somewhere, my hat.
A summer fresh rhyme, time for the flowers to blush and soak in the summer fresh rhyme, flower, them I looked at with love, picked and plucked, and placed neatly on my hat that then looked summer fresh.
Our colours matched, summer fresh orange and violet, my hat and tiny bead-like flowers as if beaded in a chain, the summer fresh evening sky, seen from my room’s window.
My room, my small room, an artist’s room. A dream for some. Back then? No, even now!
A chair and a table and good space to work and rest and look at the summer fresh evening sky and rolling gushy whispery light clouds through the window.
And the neighbouring spaces, floating yet firm terraces, all cheerful, soaking in the summer fresh colour and air.
In the room, small room, I roam and wave my hat, let it dance and then rest on the chair, I spoke through it and it spoke on my behalf, my hat, with all that appeared static but wasn’t.
The hat carried and passed my restless ideas to nowhere and no one; the calm space let the restless idea be, which when rested, breathed its last and vanished. The artist’s room continued breathing and then so did the artist, and every time later, even after losing her hat.
The cat sitting on the mat, the neighbour’s cat, this one, a peace-loving warrior, jumped up when the artist opened the door, climbed to the window, its tail waving a slow cheerio at the artist before sauntering out on the roof top.
Back in the room, hat still missing, the artist sat down to work, breathing in the room’s calmness inside, forgetting about the matters that followed her till the room’s door shut.
One glance around, the hat’s not in the room, the artist sighs, gets up, walks towards the window, finds that cat on a different terrace, sitting still like a statue, aware about the artist’s glance, itself looking downwards at a passer-by – a dog, notices the artist too and turns looking up at the summer fresh sky and then goes back to work.
A Corner of the Artist’s Room in Paris by Gwen John (1876 – 1939) inspired the blogger.
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