Blue Kitchen

Gabriella wanted a blue kitchen. One with the smell of fresh tortillas and thick coffee; one that smelled of home-ness. She wanted pretty tiles in pretty patterns on the blue walls. Stainless steel pots and pans would hang from a rack overhead. A window would face east, to see the morning sun—where the sound of children playing in the street down below could find its way in.

She longed for the scent of clove and cinnamon, sharp and sweet. And fresh oranges—that was important. She wanted a rack to hold her spices, which would line up in neat little rows like soldiers. And a nice, even floor to sweep (the troubles away).

Gabriella’s world was gray. But she built a home in her mind.

And there, her kitchen was a dark, secret blue.