For Lilian and the Indigos - Above Top Secret

The heat I turned down, and a lid I laid upon the top.
While the eggs slowly hardened, I grated the cheese – a mellow swiss – and then peeked
at the eggs. They were rising, like a flat soufflé, and I sprinkled most of the cheese over
the fluffy surface, returning the lid to its place.
For a moment there was nothing to do, so I sent an image of my table in the dining area,
set but lacking a plate, to my Datacube, my house, and knew the proper ’botties would be
sent to do the bidding. Then I peeked again at my omelet to see the cheese well melted.
I pulled the skillet off the heat, removing the lid, and pulling a plate from my cupboards.
I slid the omelet out of the skillet and onto the plate, neatly folding it as I did so. Cheese
oozed from the edges invitingly. I sprinkled the creation with the last of the cheese, and
then slapped the spoonful of truffle reserve upon the very top. My mouth was watering.
I lifted the plate, calling assurances to the ’botties that cared, that the kitchen could now
be cleaned, and then moved into my sunny spot with a crystal-topped table, which was
set for one, sans plate. I placed the plate in its appointed spot and sat. Again, I breathed
deeply, and looked at last in the direction of the fountain, given in delight by Flo. It
stood in a shady spot, all the better to draw attention to the light as it played with the
water.
The scent of the truffles mingled with the rich aroma of the jungle that grew in my house.
And I began my repast.
After breakfast, I made my way to my studio. There stood my easel, with a canvas in
pristine white propped in place, waiting for my creativity to spill forth. A palate rested
on a small table next to the easel, with tubes of paint, rags, cleaners, brushes, and
spreaders in easy reach. So focused I was on the object of my creative outlet, I hardly
noticed the rest of my sunny room: the hardwood floors in a pale ash, the wide windows
that looked out on the sky and the horizon, the seats beneath the windows, the shelves
and drawers containing books – mostly for reference – and other supplies.
I wrapped a smock around me and sat upon the stool, which placed me in front of the
canvas and in arm’s reach of the palate and supplies. In my mind’s eye I saw a young
girl, smiling, glowing with innocent pleasure as she lifted a tolerant cat above her in her
hands. With this picture burning in my head, I laid the first strokes of paint, and as the
hours – which seemed to me mere minutes – passed, the girl and the cat she loved formed
before me in paint and bliss.