Maybe real, maybe a dream... I don't remember
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The familiar glow that colors the sky and gives life to the world appeared again above the old hills. The birds were always the first to greet the newborn sun. Then the flowers opened showing the first beauty and charm us withtheir fragrance.The bees flew to greet their lovely companions. An army of ants passed by cleaning up the ground.
Butterflies danced in the air with the soft music of a stream. The wind pushed me like a mother pushes a craddle. I like this game at the end of my silk thread. It’s a masterpiece I weave, far more attractive then the one of my neigbour Stella, who just catches flies in her web She guards it all the time, while I take a walk every morning. I let myself drop on the softmoss below near the ant road. They greet me as usual without nterupting thier work, preparing themselves for the new day.
At a slow pace, I move towards the stream. The golden fishes always stare at me in an odd way mouths wide open. Two birds bath in the cool crystal water, their singing voices creating that warm peaceful feeling inside called happiness. As the sun rises, the earth gets drier. Pearls of dawn evaporate to return in the evening. Gazing aroung I notice an oval shaped object in the grass, like a rock. I approach suspiciously but it does not seem alive. To my surprise it suddenly cracks and bursts. Certainly no bird would leave his young abandoned. Out comes a thin fellow, similar to me except for having brighter colors. Then he looks at me. Never felt I so stuned. His eyes seem to call me, yet I cannot move. The trance breaks when I lean and fall.
Resting on my branch the rest of the afternoon, I watch Stella grab her prey. Night is falling again. Birds cuddle together on the branches, flowers trap their perfums and the sun keeps falling untill darkness embraces the sky.
To match daytime beauty, the black coat spreads its many diamonds, cold as ice. The chilly breeze husshes the trees so that we can all fall asleep. Hanging lonely in space at the very end of my silk thread, I keep thinking of that strange and dangerous sensation until I leave for the safe world of dreams.
© Daniel V. Llewis 2012