The Color of Rain by Tenley Gage ’18

The color grey effortlessly seeped through my window as the rain began to fall. Windows open, eyes shut; I was hidden in a labyrinth of pillows that only I knew the way out of. The fragrances of cotton and my mother loomed within the walls of my solid fortress. A fortress I had built for myself. Remnants of loved one’s chamomile kisses were sketched into my memory from the night before. Soft sheets enveloped my pastel toes while a crisp breeze from beyond the windowsill ran off with the warmth beneath the blanket. I was comfortable being cold this time of year. It was expected; I liked knowing what was going to come. The taste of faint lavender rested on my tongue while I lay peering at my off-white ceiling. As the sky faded into an affectionate indigo, I began beckoning my body to rise. Sleep-soaked dreams escaped my lips as I inhaled delicate morning air. Heavy eyelids were the first to obey. My head, not yet out of the clouds, was second. Third was my spine and ribcage, curved like the body of a cello. And finally, my legs layered in a coat of fine blonde fuzz. Once awoken, I was a sprite. Whimsical and curious. My bones were limber and light. Water dripped from the pane of glass onto the wooden desk sitting across from me. The grey melancholic rain decided to cease and with that, I arose out of the lovely little nest I had made for myself and began existing elsewhere. I left the safety of my sheets, walked down the staircase, and enjoyed breakfast tea on that rainy morning.