Her eyes are like a thousand autumn leaves being swept across a snowy landscape by a cold breeze that chills my heart. I am a victim of a force of nature, loving what cannot love me in return.
It was that time of year again, spring, and this year Pat was determined to cut down the apple tree that seemed to attract bees every year that gave him bad dreams. A few minutes with a reciprocating saw, a loud crack and a quick rustle as the branches fell to the ground was followed by the sound from Pats nightmares: thousands of bees bursting from their now grounded nest, attacking Pat in their rage and killing him within minutes.
It began to snow, a rainbow peaked through the thick fog, and then a few porpoises splashed and surfaced briefly for air, all while the cruise ship slowly drifted by a huge glacier tucked in between two Chilean peaks. I had never thought a scene like this could exist, but then again, I had never believed in vampires either, and now I was sharing a cabin with one.
Coming from the country side people ask whether I miss the flowers or the forests the most.
In truth what I miss most is the smell of mown grass.
The leather harness securely fastened the wailing toddler to the wrought iron headboard, punishment for an incomprehensible misdeed or assertion of will. Then she saw the tree beyond the window, and time and tears stood still.
The storm had been going on for days destroying everything in its path, but in the midst of all the commotion and struggle the remaining two strangers fighting for their lives looked into each other’s eyes’ and the winds ceased and the clouds parted. They knew that from this day on, their lives would never be the same because they had come this far together in the battle against nature and now they were the only hope for keeping man kind alive.
This old wood fence needs fresh paint; but, ah, the ivy begins its gentle climb. Maybe the paint can wait.