Allegra
There she stood, in the midst of the barren, deciduous forest on a wintery eve. The little cookie cutter snowflakes dropped monotonously from the deep gray sky, embedding themselves in her bright, red hair. Allegra– the light of my life, the music to my ears.
There she stood, purposeless amongst the forgotten landscape. Her feet remained planted in the dirty snow as blankets of pristine white settled in and melded into the gray hues of the ground. Her carmine lips pressed in a thin line as her brain radiated black through her nervous system. She stared straight ahead with her empty blue eyes. Allegra– the light of my life, the music to my ears.
A flash of red disturbed the eerie monotony of the deserted basin as a woodpecker settled on a sickly branch that must have once been a deep, healthy brown. She focused her gaze away from the sickening uniformity of the desolate valley and onto the woodpecker with hair as crimson as she. She watched as it set out to work.
Peck.
Peck.
Peck.
She tilted her head as she let the beat take over– nature’s metronome filling her with the rhythm of life and of all things beautiful.
The previous emptiness of her eyes released a twinkle of blue light, coalescing with the playful reds of the woodpecker’s head to create an explosion of purple.
The now-indigo sky erupted with flurry after flurry of lavender snowflakes, as the woodpecker on the mulberry branch never faltered.
Peck.
Peck.
Peck.
She took a step forward in perfect tempo. She raised her hand, as if Gaia was at her beck and call, and listened. She listened for the priceless arias of the sky’s tongue, the gifts it sends down to the mere mortals back on Earth.
Peck.
Peck.
Peck.
Woosh.
In perfect harmony, nature’s tuning fork came whistling through the leaves, leaving behind traces of byzantine, infiltrating the indigo skies as they become brighter, warmer. She stretches her long, bare arm out to catch the iridescent snowfall, each flake a unique color, an exclusive chord all on its own.
Peck.
Peck.
Woosh.
Allegra– the lyrics to my melody.
Peck.
Peck.
Woosh.
Allegra– the color to my world.
Peck.
Peck.
CLANG!
Her hands dropped in surprise at the dissonant strike of a gong, ringing decibels with such sheer force that the red plume atop nature’s metronome turned an ashen gray. The violent violets were sucked into the blistering blues and disappeared with a sickening pop!
The monotone of the barren, deciduous forest was restored– the light sucked out of her eyes, the music gone from her ears.
There she stood, without a purpose, yet again just another tool discarded from the toolbox. With a heavy heart, she took a step forward.
Adagio.
The sforzando that interrupted the most beautiful creation would stay in her heart, forever and always.
Andantino.
The staccato opportunities, never letting in enough color to rid her body of the black sludge running through her veins.
Andante.
The inspiration coming and going as it chooses, never sostenuto.
Allegretto.
Because the legato melody can only come from within. The tune of her blood, the beat of her heart.
Allegro.
It can only come from within.
Con moto.
She breaks into a run, flicking branches out of her way that return green with her touch.
Con brio.
She opens her mouth and lets out a beautiful melody, returning the sky to baby blue and bringing the hummingbirds out of hiding to chirp the harmonies.
Con fuoco.
She leaps into the air, the fire in her veins restoring the black to blood red, melting the snow, warming the atmosphere with her presence.
There she stood, in the midst of the restored, evergreen forests. The bluejays joining the chorus of melodies as they sing to the rhythm of her heart. Her vivacious chestnut locks dancing in the breeze, her cardinal lips turned upward in a smile, and the calm, ocean blue of her eyes.
Allegra. The light of my life, the music to my ears, the fire to my heart.