The meadowlark's symphony came to a restful end as the evening hues gave way to the twinkling, starry night. The crescent Goddess of the moon waxed in gentle serenades into the resting bird's sight with open, welcoming arms. Taking its last, weak breath, that were gasped by blood filled lungs, the dwindling creature embraced the chilly, night air. Departed from us, to its eternal symphony, flying through the heavens and constellations.
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The Forest We Call Home
Proză scurtăThe Forest we call home. The Home where we are alone. The Forest our spirits are welcome. Welcomed with boisterous subtle tone.
