Cornflower blue

A woman with a blonde bob adorned with a bronze flower clip barrett and horizontal oval glasses leans over to scrub the stain off the sky blue polyester golf shirt. She wants to stitch up her husband's tennis shoes with thick green thread so he can call them mocashoes.
She wishes for lavender bushes to cut and put in vinegar to make a cleaning solution. Will she ever try to make that parsley perfume?
Colors are magenta rose, lilac and cornflower blue. Ah, cornflower blue. She practically had an orgasm for this crayon. Oh and forest green. Yeah, forest green. She wanted to color that color so hard.
Her heart almost breaks because the pincushion flowers planted before she moved here, don't appear to be coming up this summer. She salivates over a dark leafy green weed growing along the gravel path. Are they those French lamb's ear greens she's been wanting to try? Oh please, god, make it so.
She decides to chop the volunteer mulberry tree she had been cultivating. Maybe it will grow back. Inside the columnar cut stem is light green. Not that verdant. She hopes the mulberry is as tough as it's known to be. She decides to make the little cut tree her wand. She will add it to her wand collection, which consists of a dogwood wand.
She has a small dried root collection too. Pods, seeds, nuts, feathers and rocks coveted and loved. Snail shells, piece of a bird skull, crow's feet, green june bug, weird irridescent blue fly, and a dragonfly in a jam jar that should never be opened unless one wants to unleash a scent to draw demons from the depths of putridity.
Remember the yard that summer on Wyoming where the wild garlic looked like fiddlehead ferns?
Remember when the yard was purple?
Oh, I loved that time too.
She wants to master the stove. She envisions four swirling pots spinning as she maneuvers over them like a dj.
She thinks a purple kitchen will make it her own.