Imagine with Elizabeth Bennet

Like Elizabeth Bennet, I stroll into the wild garden of my back yard.  Trees and bushes obscure the world, creating a lush haven of fading green as the golden autumn shivers in. Moss hugs the base of an ancient crab tree. It looks lush and soft, like a blanket from mother nature. I wish to sit at the foot of that tree and master the art of silence, reverently tuck my head against the bark, watch the light flicker on the deeply green grass, and just breathe. But, my butt would get wet, and it would be uncomfortable, so I meander on… a twitch to my nose and a roll of my eyes for caring about such things.

While taking a turn, checking the ground for a gift of color, my mind wanders in circular ruminations. Do I do this? Should I try that? Is the world still round or has it become an egg? A group of crows admonish me from afar and I chuckle at the willy wiles of my imagination.

Might there be a cougar? Out there in the green woods watching me? Would it consider me lunch, or too much of a challenge? Or might it be a black bear, searching for the fill that will sate for an entire winter? Is that what I am doing in my restless meandering? Seeking fulfillment?

What would I do if a duchess of American quality showed up at my wild doorstep? I wonder, tilting my head back to stare up the long trunk of Elm that doesn’t need anyone to give it attention, how that duchess might look at me. My long hair in a haphazard up doo, striped with grey and unruly as hell. Shoes with holes in them because they still have some wear. Overly long jeans and a very large sweater, hiding anything I can fit into them (and they do a good job of it too.) Glasses that slip down my nose more than they stay, and hands that need to be moving and investigating everything. I suppose I’m like a two-year-old, exploring my world with too much confidence. I even carry a waddling swagger. It is my garden after all, and I am entitled to meander however I wish.

Would this duchess warn me about a secret lover? Admonish me for aiming too high? Insult me and my entire family to prove her point?

Oh look… a red maple leaf. How pretty. I lean over and pluck it from the twigs and greens. It is free and nature dropped it just for me. I smile and brush my fingers along the veins, mesmerized by the fiery color.

The duchess, is she still there? Scowling at me for my rudeness?

I swallow and utter, “Oh, I am sorry. I got distracted. What were we talking about?”

“Mr. Darcy,” she nearly shouts, her cheeks red with irritation.

“Umm,” I look down at the leaf, “Who is that?” Does he have a good leg? A carriage? Hell does he even have a horse? Beggars cannot be choosers you know. But I do have my standards.

“So, he hasn’t asked you to marry him?” She demands of me.

“Umm… who, what?” I shake my head at her in confusion.

The duchess waves her hands in agitation, “You are impossible. Why would he want to marry you?”

I laugh and shrug. “I guess we’ll never know since he hasn’t asked.”

Feeling like the world is not round, but a tipsy turvy saucer with a wobbly orbit, I shake my head and continue perusing the path for leaves.  The duchess follows me, though I cannot understand why. Surely, she must have something more important to do.

“You’re so odd,” she mutters under her breath. Her comment is carried on the wind to tickle my ear.

I smile and turn to face her. “You noticed! Thank you.”

She is taken aback and stutters, “What are you implying?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head and go back to my walk, my perusing, and my wandering.

I have often wondered if some people consider me an “ICEBURG” because I study and observe more than I speak. Then there is such a tint of melancholy about me that it must scare people as well. Who wants to deal with all that toxicity eh?

I tuck my hands into my sweater and take a deep breath of the crisp autumn air.

Mr. Darcy isn’t real. It used to be a wonderful daydream when I was younger and full of possibilities. And I am proud to say that Lizzie has a large part of my heart, for she admitted her pride & prejudice, recognizing her part in the entire event. Like her, I find solace in the wildness of nature and the unconventional way of doing things, but I’m certain that is my pride speaking.

Shall we put the world right and make it round again in a five-minute read? Or should we let it stay topsy turvy for a while longer? You decide. It is your imagination that rules your world after all.

While looking at William Blake to find a quote, this one stood out to me, though I cannot, for the life of me understand why…

“My mother moaned, my father wept,

Into the dangerous world I leapt.”

William Blake

Aw well. Another moment in time, here and gone. Is there a point to this story? Is it a story? Is it the meandering thoughts of a wounded soul? Hell, I’m typing in titles now. Marvin sent out an invitation to write. Here I am… writing. It feels wonderful. Thank you, Marvin.

Blessings dear souls and thank you for reading. ©RRG