The Coming of Spring

I realized my problem with the story!!! The reason why everything has been too like a summary is because I haven't been zooming in enough! (Of course, Ms. Pugs told me this months ago, but I only just get it now.) I have proof. I was writing last Saturday and I noted that yet again I was giving an overview. I wanted to try and make time stop for just a little, have an hour actually take more than a few sentences. So I took what happened in the first paragraph and wrote it again, but in more detail. Take a look, if you'd like.

Zoomed OUT:
When Spring came to them in their happiness, realization dawning upon their friendship, the first thing she noticed was how big he was. Another day had come and she had woken with all the excitement that had lifted her lids for the past winter and autumn. There was something, no, someone, in the world that needed her to come out into the day. She rushed to oblige, for the other part of this small bargain that she had acknowledged was that she needed that someone in turn. Despite her impatience, it took some time for her to choose a frock of the few that she had, and even to set her hair to rights, going to the trouble of braiding it into an intricate weave. These things were unconscious, of course. In her heart she told herself that there was no particular reason for her care. When washed and dressed, Daphne hurried to pack a small basket of food stuffs, indeed the best that her limited pantry had to offer – a picnic by the lake was in order, a popular enough spot for Pilar to allow them to go on together unchaperoned. Went she did, before the sun was full in the sky, and to both her expectation and surprise, Crowe was waiting already for her at the head of the path.

Zoomed IN:
The birds called from the morning nest, harkening the day that was beginning in the far east. Along the rims of the cupped world, there was a faint glow approaching swiftly, yet also so slowly, the leaf on the flowing river, a mote of pollen caught in the wind. Cool emanated from the thin walls of the low-built house, fingers of air reaching steadily through the cracks in closed shutters. Daphne curled away from the icy grip in sleep, pulling closer the bundled mantle that was already wrapped tightly around her. The hand was insistent though. It tapped gently at her bare forehead, wound through the blanket around her feet to chill her toes, firmly placed the back of a hand against the nape of her neck. Daphne started awake. Ah! the cold. Slowly, one eye dared flutter open, the lid swiftly snapping back down. More slowly again, the process was repeated. A third time, and both came open and stayed thus.
Daphne, still curled tightly in a ball, listened to the outside world awakening with her, her eyes resting on the wooden frame of the window. She imagined what it would be like to be wealthy, to have glass windows to keep the cold out, a fire to make the house warm. A dream, she thought. Unless the Prince grows a heart. She laughed softly to herself. Yes, that will happen as soon as the leaves in the forest turned to gold. Crowe is wealthy, she mused, his dark face swimming into the pool of her thoughts. A moment later, she caught up with herself. A gasp. Hush, silly, she told herself. What a thing to think of! Fool!
The order of her thoughts pushed her to bolt upright and jump from the frigid bed into the even cooler air. A spasm overtook her and this time she exclaimed out loud. Ah! What day was it? What was there to be done? She remembered – nothing, for today she was meant to go to the lake with Crowe for a picnic. Without Pilar. Daphne did not want to think of why this felt significant. She pulled opened the chest and pulled out the first frock that her hands found as was her custom. When her eyes met it however, they recoiled. In truth, there was nothing terribly the matter with the simple dress, yet she found herself wishing for something a little more flattering. It is not for anybody in particular, just myself and this lovely spring day. She rummaged a moment or two more, disappointment springing up in the shape of her three other dresses, each more simple and rugged than the last. Finally, at the bottom of the chest, she found a fifth shift of fine linen in blue, a color to match the sky, the lake. It was the best dress that she had, and still she felt a little too plain when she pulled it on. For the first time, she wished that she could afford even a small pocket mirror, for there was no way to see herself and how she looked in this gardener’s house.
In truth, Daphne did not really know what she looked like. Only faint reflections in a distorted stream or impressions in a glossy piece of ceramic had rendered her for herself in shades of grey. This thought struck her with inspiration, and she rushed quietly to the kitchen for the knife. The earthen floor was damp beneath her, and she thought a little on buying wooden slats to place for a floor when the loggers came to town. In the kitchen as in her bedroom, the cold had crept in throughout the night, and she pulled the fabric of her dress closer. In a drawer she found what she sought. With a cloth she cleaned the blade, and holding it up in the light, attempted to perceive a reflection. Disappointment came again – it was too rusted and spotted with use to serve. Defeated, she returned to her room to comb her hair. She thought to braid it as she always did, and as was proper, but a second thought made her leave it down, flowing more than halfway down her back. Not all would approve, but when had she ever cared for their opinions. Back to the kitchen with a basket she went, to pack food for the day. The pantry provided the remains of a jar of honey, the last of the summer’s yield, and some cured meat, purchased a few days prior at market. From the cooling oven she pulled a warm loaf of bread, made that very morning by her mother, bless her good and gentle heart. Set on a linen kerchief and tenderly wrapped, the food was soon ready, and Daphne with it.
By now, the sun had full risen and lit the morning gaily with arms of light. From outdoors and in Daphne heard little. Doubtless, Pilar had already risen and was off to see to the Prince’s garden. Daphne smiled grimly, wishing her mother well. The time was coming for her appointment now. She padded to the door in bare feet, pausing a moment on the step to dust off her soles. Slipping on her shoes, she pulled up the door latch, which creaked good-humouredly to her as she stepped out into the morning.
It was as if months had passed in a night. The small dirt path outside the house was nearly completely obscured by a fertile lushness that threatened to take over. Dew drops sparkled like diamonds or flakes of snow caught on petals and leaves. Above, the trees had begun to grow flower buds, some of which seemed on the verge of opening. Even higher, the sky was already cleared and turning the purest, deepest shade of azure possible on a sunny day. And as drab and plain as Daphne had felt only minutes earlier, sequestered in the comparative gloom of the old, fading house, she understood now that this day, this life belonged to her as she did to it. As a matter of course, there stood at the head of the path, a dark Crowe, eagerly waiting.