High Diction

      The sky seemed to glow from over the horizon, as if the sun was anxious to rise into the sky this morning. As it should wish to. It was indeed quite a nice morning. Though it was bitterly cold the day felt bright and joy full. The spring grass was still laden with the night's icy dew which twinkled and winked in the predawn. Between the angelic glow of the rising sun and the diamond sparkle that covered every surface, the world seemed to take on a heavenly hue, without a discernible color but instead a palpable feeling that filled one with peace and ease and cheer.
      As the sun presented itself to the sky, the ice slowly melted away, ending the moment of magic, and leaving the garden to look despairingly average. I shivered absentmindedly under my quilted blanket. I could hear the day beginning. Directly to my back there were sounds of bustle and impatience in the big manor house. The maids and servants and cooks were up, doing their morning duties so that everything was ready when Mr. and Mrs. Welton awoke. No doubt Mrs. Welton already had.
       She would be sitting at her old table which was an antique and "therefore there should be no talk of selling it off", in a little rickety chair, which also was an antique, on a dusty old velvet cushion which had been fluffed and beaten to perfection for her some time earlier by a maid. She would be powdering and pinching and painting away until she had plastered on a face that looked fifteen years younger and ten older at the same time. She would be picking out picking out some dreadful perfume to douse on every inch of herself, creating a dreadful cloud of juniper and rose that made me want to gag. Then there would be a footman wailing for me to come in for breakfast. I would come begrudgingly, to sit and pick at whatever ghastly masterpiece had been prepared, and then sigh when my mother brought up how I would
"catch a terrible chill if I continued to go outside in the current conditions." we would then continue a heated conversation on what a "respectable lady" would do. I would point out to her that I was not in fact a respectable lady and she would humph and try to drag my father into the conversation. Who coincidentally would be very intrigued by his eggs, or sausage, or what have you. Then finally he would look up to say that "I was a Welton and as Weltons come I was a wondrous child." Mother would then make some furious squeak and the room would sink in to silence.
      I closed my eyes and took in the moment, wishing it would last for eternity, but the unmistakable sound of the foot man calling me for breakfast shattered the moment. i sighed, yes today would be a day like any other.