Below the sight of the six-footers, lies the lush, ever-green grass, caressing the summer breeze –as it cautiously blows between the tiny delicate hairs of grass, feeding it awareness that its schedule has come.
These miniature hairs are not as dim as perceived, for many carry stories of grief and misery. Only those lucky have survived the downfall of the two-limbed, the rest - prudent enough to predict the near arrival of their 3rd, 50th, 51stappointment with those feeding torture to the harmless and deceased.
The porcelain birds among this magical haven, command the gates of heaven to open- as they sing in tutti amongst each other. Their songs: a moment of praise to nature. For giving them their awe less fluttering wings-so iridescent it’s blinding. With a single glance of the eye, it’s a glorious display of fluorescent colours, gold’s and greens, and browns, and reds; all playing their parts in this wonderful play.
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@kessie
just me - Sick stuff
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