Fresh paint.
She sat cross-legged in a white dress. It was a hot day, but the shade from the umbrella and the breeze made it comfortable.
A teacup rested beside a book she had stopped reading, distracted by something happening near the fountain.
The green gardens and tall hedges were beginning to bloom, small buds appearing among the leaves.
Suddenly, the glass table darkened, and she was transported to the middle of the universe. A can of paint and a pair of overalls materialized beside her, along with rolled-up plans for a new nebula.
With a brush in her pocket—one she had forgotten she still carried—she began to paint. When the nebula was finished, she was sent back to where she had been sitting, just before the tea had time to grow cold.
