The wind carries familiar sounds and smells over fields of driftwood, where sand banks stretch, and seashells crowd. Soft grass tilts its seed toward the sliding tide, shifting in the mirroring moon. The tail-wagging songbird calls the shots, whistling tunes in sun born love nests previously used by others, in the past.
Hill tops with their slippery dip lawns, flow like emerald lakes, and egg whites whipped to the tips of the sea, applauding waves over lavishly adorned rocks, neck lacing cliffs with treasures glowing, and the resilient suns blood, gives life, while gathering fans and worshipers in its collective arms, in cloaks of motherly care.
Each new day turns the key, that sets your sails free, without looming cloth, the changing breeze turns and twists pouring coloured seasons, over mountainous regions. How majestic is the truth breathing air, filtered by leaves, the wisdom of time is its treasure, lying at your feet in the ignorant mist. Passionate eyes, take aim through fixed glass lenses, collecting images, helping others to see, what wonderful creatures we have turned out to be. Our taste buds sprung open like featherless birds swaying high up in the limbs of the sky, for things we cannot see. Clouds suspended from blue canvas sheets, like a painting, falling down waterfalls, behind the crimson scene.
Green woolen treetops swinging and swaying, saluting to kings and queens, while below humming activity grows. The sneaky sound rains of motorcars, buses and busy planes, fade into the distant silence, zooming in and out of time with the winds conductor, like an orchestra blowing its brass section. Localized tapping with little teeth a chatting, on keyboards with fingertips. Human bowerbirds collecting the strangest things, playing pianos for tinker bells, turning empty hearts alight, singing jazz songs through seashells at night.