It is, objectively, a nice day.
Honey sunlight drizzles gently over emerald leaves as the sun treks towards the horizon. A light breeze rustles the trees, the branches swaying a little. The pearly wisps above drift aimlessly, gradually giving way to cerulean sky. Soft rose has already begun to bleed into the edges, and the sun dips even lower. The moon, an opal set against a backdrop of blue, has slowly made itself known, and a cloud shifts to cover it.
You breathe in, deeply.
The air smells clean, but not fresh in the way it is after a recent rain.
Instead, you can smell the dry woodiness of the forest, the dust of the pavement, the rich earthiness of the soil.
The sky overhead burns darker, shaded by hues of golds and pinks and purples as night makes its approach.
You can't help but feel that you have come to the end of a page in the book of life as another day draws to a close.
YOU ARE READING
simple moments: a collection
Randoma collection of short scenes, probably won't have actual plot can be considered prose poetry, maybe flash fiction in some cases will probably all be in second person, if you don't like reading second person pov this is probably not for you this is p...
