I hear an owl, and it's only around noon. Strange? Sure. Heat blazes down on my bare legs, ever so slowly tanning the pale winter skin.
Well, it's actually two owls, taking turns whooting in a nearby tree.
The neon yellow sprinkler hums as it falls back and forth, sending small packages of water to the ground below. The bead of water softly hits the grass, thrilling the small creatures.
A dog is barking at the barber's home, scratching at the old brown wooden fence. As it quiets, I begin to hear the birds.
Their sweet musical melody fills the sticky air. They converse, asking their friends where the juiciest worm can be found, or where the coolest water lies.
The deep green grass sways gently, yellowing tips color the tallest of the tall pieces.
Pink flowers whisper by the gate, spreading gossip about the quiet rabbit that nibbles on their leaves right under them.
Looking at the sky, I understand why people compare clouds to cotton; they are fluffy, so fluffy and perfect that you can spot each ridge of the cloud. The puffy whiteness fills the sky, as if waiting for the Sky King to come down from his castle and sit on the royal throne before him.
A honey bee whispers words of wisdom as it passes over me, mumbling a "buzz" under its breath.
A bright star overhead makes all these sights possible to see. It shines brightly, colors man cannot create gleaming down upon us Earthlings. It smirks at us, as if to say "Haha, you cannot mimic me!"
And that is what ties us together.
It is the sun that makes the owls say "Who? Who? Who?", and powers the sprinkler, cooling the ground. The dog barks in spite of the sun, for it is much too hot for his taste.
The small birds chirp, oblivious to the heat; it is all they have known.
The tall flowers stand proudly, proclaiming that they are the sun's beauties, while the small brown rabbit below scoffs at their foolishness.
The clouds are the guards, protecting their mother from the harm of Earth, but gently caressing the brilliant never ending blue sky with its soft silkyness.
And for the honey bee, well he continues humming, spreading pollen to the sun's beauties and being a messenger to the wise.
