Wooden supports creaked under the weight of Ursula’s bare feet as she strained to see over the hill. She stood on a small grey stool, a little yellow parrot perched on her shoulder. The large basket in her hands shook with anticipation. It was filled to the brim with feathers of vibrant reds and brilliant greens.
Determining that no one was coming, Ursula let out a huff, and sat down hard on the stool. She brushed her toes over the family of daisies resting in her shadow, tracing circles in their petals. Daisies were her favorite flower, and she bent to pick the five most beautiful.
“Klip-Klop, Klip-Klop.” The familiar sound brought a dazzling beam to her face.
“Klip-Klop! Klip-Klop!!” Parrot sang gleefully into the evening air. He took flight, brandishing his sun-yellow feathers to everyone and everything. Ursula’s eyes followed him up the path, where the yellow blur met a figure riding his horse.
Huge saddlebags were secured to the horses sides, bursting at the seams with scrolls of parchment. The man had even more scrolls peeking out of a satchel on his back, sticking out at odd angles. As the light of the setting sun caught his face, Ursula could see his emerald eyes squinting through the glare. He wore tall black boots, and his earthy brown hair twisted out from under a checkered cabbie cap.
“Paper. Paper!” Parrot hollered, landing on the man's hat, who let out a knowing laugh, and dismounted his horse. With a grunt, he swung his satchel off his shoulder. It landed with a bounce on the mossy path.
“Feathers for paper?” he asked as he approached her, shielding the sun from his eyes, “Fresh off the racks, finished drying this morning.”
Ursula stretched her open hand towards him, and he gently placed a thick scroll in her hands. She placed it on the stool and extended the basket. His hands glided over the collection, reaching for a short red one, before pulling back. Then for a thin purple one, then another red one, until finally resting on a long, wide feather. He held it up to his cheek. It matched the green of his eyes.
Ursula couldn’t help smiling, and stepped closer to him. She looked up into his bright face. Freckles dotted his nose, like the first fall of leaves.
“Good choice,” she told him.
He hopped atop his horse once more, and klip-klopped down the gray path.
Ursula stood for a moment, paper in hand. Parrot returned to her shoulder and she turned and skipped, klip-klop, down the hill.
They lived in a moss cabin, quite a ways from the town, as Parrot could be quite loud. The forest was much more quiet (and more acoustic, in Parrot’s opinion) compared to the nauseating hustle and bustle of the village’s happenings.
As soon as they were inside, Ursula ran to her desk and sprawled out her paper scroll. She grabbed charcoal from a drawer, and ink from a shelf. She took a low deep breath, and began to draw.
She drew him. For hours, she sketched out aspects of his form. His eyes, his hat, his nose. His adorable freckled nose. How can someone have a nose that adorable? It shouldn’t be allowed. Ink covered the parchment, and Ursula’s hands became more and more colorful with each new detail.
It was midnight. Ursula and Parrot laid their heads upon feathers and moss.
In the morning they awoke, and Ursula threw on a new dress as fast as she could. She flung open the door, grabbed her drawing, and sprinted from the cabin. The moss beneath her feet seemed to propel her forward. She felt her heartbeat quicken, her senses heighten. Over the bridge, through the grove, into the clearing.
The town appeared before her, sparkling like diamonds. Faster across the field she ran, and could almost see him now.
There he was, he and his horse, standing in the river. He was skipping stones, his trousers rolled up above his knees. His head turned, and their eyes met. Her hand was held tight to her chest, clutching onto the scroll like it was the only thing that mattered.
“I love you,” she said, and handed him the scroll. He took it and opened it. Neither of them said anything for a very long time. Ursula's heart stopped. Her hands grew clammy and she began to shake.
“I can ta — ” she started, but his hand already cupped her cheek.
“I love you,” he said.
“Klip-Klop,” Parrot said.
Determining that no one was coming, Ursula let out a huff, and sat down hard on the stool. She brushed her toes over the family of daisies resting in her shadow, tracing circles in their petals. Daisies were her favorite flower, and she bent to pick the five most beautiful.
“Klip-Klop, Klip-Klop.” The familiar sound brought a dazzling beam to her face.
“Klip-Klop! Klip-Klop!!” Parrot sang gleefully into the evening air. He took flight, brandishing his sun-yellow feathers to everyone and everything. Ursula’s eyes followed him up the path, where the yellow blur met a figure riding his horse.
Huge saddlebags were secured to the horses sides, bursting at the seams with scrolls of parchment. The man had even more scrolls peeking out of a satchel on his back, sticking out at odd angles. As the light of the setting sun caught his face, Ursula could see his emerald eyes squinting through the glare. He wore tall black boots, and his earthy brown hair twisted out from under a checkered cabbie cap.
“Paper. Paper!” Parrot hollered, landing on the man's hat, who let out a knowing laugh, and dismounted his horse. With a grunt, he swung his satchel off his shoulder. It landed with a bounce on the mossy path.
“Feathers for paper?” he asked as he approached her, shielding the sun from his eyes, “Fresh off the racks, finished drying this morning.”
Ursula stretched her open hand towards him, and he gently placed a thick scroll in her hands. She placed it on the stool and extended the basket. His hands glided over the collection, reaching for a short red one, before pulling back. Then for a thin purple one, then another red one, until finally resting on a long, wide feather. He held it up to his cheek. It matched the green of his eyes.
Ursula couldn’t help smiling, and stepped closer to him. She looked up into his bright face. Freckles dotted his nose, like the first fall of leaves.
“Good choice,” she told him.
He hopped atop his horse once more, and klip-klopped down the gray path.
Ursula stood for a moment, paper in hand. Parrot returned to her shoulder and she turned and skipped, klip-klop, down the hill.
They lived in a moss cabin, quite a ways from the town, as Parrot could be quite loud. The forest was much more quiet (and more acoustic, in Parrot’s opinion) compared to the nauseating hustle and bustle of the village’s happenings.
As soon as they were inside, Ursula ran to her desk and sprawled out her paper scroll. She grabbed charcoal from a drawer, and ink from a shelf. She took a low deep breath, and began to draw.
She drew him. For hours, she sketched out aspects of his form. His eyes, his hat, his nose. His adorable freckled nose. How can someone have a nose that adorable? It shouldn’t be allowed. Ink covered the parchment, and Ursula’s hands became more and more colorful with each new detail.
It was midnight. Ursula and Parrot laid their heads upon feathers and moss.
In the morning they awoke, and Ursula threw on a new dress as fast as she could. She flung open the door, grabbed her drawing, and sprinted from the cabin. The moss beneath her feet seemed to propel her forward. She felt her heartbeat quicken, her senses heighten. Over the bridge, through the grove, into the clearing.
The town appeared before her, sparkling like diamonds. Faster across the field she ran, and could almost see him now.
There he was, he and his horse, standing in the river. He was skipping stones, his trousers rolled up above his knees. His head turned, and their eyes met. Her hand was held tight to her chest, clutching onto the scroll like it was the only thing that mattered.
“I love you,” she said, and handed him the scroll. He took it and opened it. Neither of them said anything for a very long time. Ursula's heart stopped. Her hands grew clammy and she began to shake.
“I can ta — ” she started, but his hand already cupped her cheek.
“I love you,” he said.
“Klip-Klop,” Parrot said.