Blooms & Cups

The first thing she noticed was the scent. Mira could catch some of the notes – a little bit earthy and woody, like a fresh pine forest after rain. Comforting, definitely pleasant, leaving a salty taste on the tongue. There was something more hiding in the core of the fragrance, as if not yet ready to be revealed. Sage? Jasmine? Stone? Oh, this was silly, wasn’t it? Yet, the impression lingered.

Then she felt a distinct tingling on her back. Goosebumps slowly formed along her spine – from the tailbone, up her shoulder blades, finally wrapping around her neck and collarbones. Not cold shivers – more like a soft shawl, loosely draped around shoulders when you set off for a journey just before dawn.

The sound she was anticipating was barely noticeable at first. But she knew it would fill her ears with various echoes soon. Melody so bizarre it becomes intoxicating before you know it. The rhythm of wind.

It was all familiar – the same theme had risen in her dreams since she was little. At first, it came often, then less and less frequently, as if she outgrew it. Or just forgot how to dream it. Recently, the pattern seemed to find her way again, so the feeling of excitement and childish joy rose in Mira as she waited for the first warm gust.

The wind nudged her. It was not the unpleasant push of an external might forcing one’s path. Mira felt as if a soft breath led her without pressure. The urge came from within her, as if the wind escaped her own lungs and became both the influence and the cause.

So she roamed.

Mira did not lack essence. She was not a mere straw doll lost in a storm, waiting for a path to be chosen without her say. She owned the route and flew her own trail. Even though she did not feel absolute control – she was not scared. Odd. 

She felt curiosity. Mischief. The need to go further.

The images around her were ever-changing. It was difficult to focus on any object for long. She brushed her fingertips against leaves of some towering trees. Aspen. But when she looked down on her palms, she could only see forms dissolving like an autumn mist. 

It did not bother her. It made her wonder.

Lights and shadows swirled around Mira like a restless bokeh. When she accelerated, she saw luminous smears or cat-eyes. Slowing down – she could catch a shape or two for a moment. A glimpse of a street lantern, a box, a hat, a dogrose, some scattered music notes. The box she recognized. Let’s not think about it now.

She moved in vast leaps more than a flight. Always following her instincts, changing directions based on a hint only. A laugh escaped her lips when she grazed heathers of a sweeping moorland with points of her shoes. The sound carried on for a moment, like a memory of chimes lightly touched.

Mid-leap, something flickered at the edge of her vision. Or did it? Mira faced the direction and saw only shifting shades, nothing out of the ordinary – if you can talk about ordinariness flying over a dreamland.

Mira hesitated. Wasn’t she alone here? Wasn’t it her castle of solitude and peace? As she tried to get a better view, she heard a sound. It was out of place, alien and grating. She tried to ignore it, searching for the movement again. But it was gone. The noise swelled, each note sharper than the last. The dream blurred into nothingness and Mira suddenly felt cold.