short stories
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A Bouquet of Dreams
It was a beautiful golden day in May, lapped in light and the heat of noon. The gulls were cleaving the sky with their echoing cries; the wind wandered by the beech and the willows stirring their branches as they softly sighed. The hawthorn too looked sweet and fresh, like apples in rain. The blooming mayflowers that were now sprinkling their floral delights from every spray would soon be fading, as in Autumn they will become laden with a rich bounty of bright red shiny peggles. Maverick and I lingered a while to quaff its heady fragrance, when keen from her lair a spider leaned to procure the many tiny white flies that visited the flowers. I watched the many butterflies’ wings open and close like a hinge, sun blessed as they basked in the warmth of the sun, the bees too were droning their sounds rising as gradual as a lute, becoming almost meditative.
The charms of nature-Spellbound
Yesterday was a bright, calm sunny morning. The sun shone over fields of amber grain, where red poppies danced in the wind’s breath. Across the dewy fields the cattle lay in verdant green pastures. Under the massing clouds, radiant dewdrops lay in shiny pouches, like a looking glass that lay upon the thistle heads which were cool to the touch. I noticed the beautiful white cup-shaped flowers of intertwined convolvulus amidst them. However, yesterday had become history, today is mystery, as I watched the waves of colour seeping layer upon layer through the dark clouds and observed how they began to race each other across the open fields. The dawn was glorious, the air filled with song, with each bird proclaiming the new day.
A Bouquet of Dreams
It was a beautiful golden day in May, lapped in light and the heat of noon. The gulls were cleaving the sky with their echoing cries; the wind wandered by the beech and the willows stirring their branches as they softly sighed. The hawthorn too looked sweet and fresh, like apples in rain. The blooming mayflowers that were now sprinkling their floral delights from every spray would soon be fading, as in Autumn they will become laden with a rich bounty of bright red shiny peggles. Maverick and I lingered a while to quaff its heady fragrance, when keen from her lair a spider leaned to procure the many tiny white flies that visited the flowers. I watched the many butterflies’ wings open and close like a hinge, sun blessed as they basked in the warmth of the sun, the bees too were droning their sounds rising as gradual as a lute, becoming almost meditative.