This is a tale, (or story, or whatever you prefer to call it) about me weeding my garden. Rather my mother's garden.
Weather: Very beautiful, despite it being extremely winding.
Garden size: Roughly 30x150, (It's very large)
We begin our story right after we have planted a rose, (not in the garden mind you) We start to put the water hose back when my mother says:
"We really need to clean up the garden"
The response from me and my sister,
"Why?"
"How long will it take?"
Blissfully blooming beauty sprung
Budding, arraying colours gay
Pussy willows, daisies, daffodils
Mingling fresh breath of trees
Cheerfully notes of birds fly
Amongst Mary’s eyes blue sky
Light pouring forth in great measure
In grass yellow-green with colour
Amongst the basin of watery blue
Wispy white brushstrokes flee
Droplets, sparkling, pearly rain
The whistling of wind whirls round
Blustering, fluttering shadows
Swaying, tilting boughs
Bending, leaning blades
Flying, swirling leaves
When upon an evening late
I see the icy weather fey,
Striving still to penetrate
The warmth of my abode.
Like the mighty Iron Horse
Roaring down the track,
The wind screams 'round the corners,
To pierce each niche and crack.
Yet though the rain does not abate
There lies a pleasant feeling.
For wind and rain are in the cold,
While I am by the fire, reading.
A chilling breath of wind
ruffles my hair, catches hold
twirls me around
in a whirl of red and orange
of yellow and gold,
and sings a song for days of old
The sun is sinking,
a blaze of bright,
the moon is rising in gray twilight
The sparrow's form careening
across the pale blue sky
the wind, it still keeps singing,
and twirling as summer sighs
My cheeks are cold and crimson
from the very first kiss of fall
that comes with the chill wind blowing
and then, without a sound,
There is a wind that whispers through the cold day and swirls through the colder night
There is a wind that comes from unknown places and hurries on into the haze
There is a wind that sighs with pleasure in the harvest fields and rattles happily in the treetops
There is a wind that carries falling leaves and drops them at your feet as you pass by
There is a wind that pierces fabric and dances with sharp steps on your warm skin
There is a wind that brings the smell of smoke mixed with spices in the brisk air
Swaying branches
Flying leaves
Bustling wind
Scouring down hills
Gusting breeze
Flowing water
Creaking limbs
Howling air
The night so fair
Wind so cool
Deep waves of sea
Flow ever on
The stars glimmer
Spreading brightness
On deep blue sea
Reflects
Fair moon
Above the sea
The sky, the sea
Deep blue
Rushing sound
Of waves
Gusting
Wind
The wave’s lapping shore
Tide pulls in
As sun rises
Over peaks
Of blue seas
Shall endure the morn.
