Felt like there was nothing interestin to write about though there is plenty of things to say. Figured that i will put this up jut for the sake of it. Actually, it is part 2 of an earlier rubbish, i wrote which i guess will go on and on for sometime yet. Yeah, i am now into promoting flowers,times are real bad! hahahaha....LOL
Tiny rose petals peeked furtively from their spring buds as Changeling tripped and sashayed down Main Street. On an impulse, he murmured, "I will drop by Mr Bears to see how he is doing after the silence of the long chilly winter" Hastening through the wind swept streets strewn with dry petals of dead snowbells, pansies, and hellebores, he skipped past the tattered forlorn streamers of Christmas, past the mangled “Happy New Year” sign tossed about like a ragged doll by the chilly gusts until he reached the top of a rocky knoll. He stopped to catch his breath and caught a glimpse of the street below, the cars trundling by in sombre silence as if they were part of a funeral wake. Little children, their tiny palms ensconced in the assured grip of adults, shuffled silently by, momentarily stopping to fix their hazel-brown eyes into his. For a moment, he reached forward to soothe the pained stare of those little faces but his outstretched hand dropped limply when he glimpsed the flash of terror behind the mask of curiosity. `
The lingering chill of winter sent a shiver through his spine and he sniffled as the still air, thick with the scents of jasmine, honeysuckle, daffodils, jonquils and lilac, rocked to and fro in the arms of the gentle breeze. He stopped and leaned over a stile letting the stillness of the evening pour into his eyes, the distant echoes of dusk slowly reverberating in his ears, the fragrance of spring flitting through his nostrils and gurgling down his throat. Then, he bounded up a grassy hillock and lay down beneath a copse of trees. Their boughs gently arching overhead as droplets of fading light fell through the canopy. Beneath him, he felt the warm breath of the damp earth and caught the evening sigh of the long day. He watched the droplets of light congealing in a pool of luminescence before him where butterflies fluttered their colourful wings and dragonflies hovered in a perpetual buzz. As he stared transfixed, he heard silence clear his throat in the lee of the wind and watched sadness skip past in mirthful joy.
Drinking in the scene, the intoxicating cocktail of sight, sound and scent suffusing his wistful soul, he felt momentarily lifted from his earthly existence and borne on the wings of Cupid towards the dancing pool of light. The whispering breeze caressed his pale, sunken cheeks, fluttered his wispy tousles and whistled through his unbuttoned waistcoat yet he felt a strange warmth within. Like a lovelorn lover caught in a passionate embrace, he reached out to stroke the invisible face of his beloved, to drink the passion off her luscious lips, to trace the arch of her long eyebrows, to finger the smoothness of her porcelain cheeks, to stroke the tousles off her long dark hair, to gently curl his fingers beneath her chin and raise her eyes to his and drown his longing in a sea of unblinking blue. Suddenly, the pool of light dissipated, the butterflies fluttered away with the dragonflies in tow and sadness traipsed back into his outstretched arms…
Emerging from his reverie, he swivelled around to momentarily to inhale the intoxicating fragrance of narcissus, the perfumed scent sweeping through his soul like the gentle waves that lapped the shorelines of his childhood. “ How I miss her” his aching heart whispered to his silent soul. “I hope she is still here” his soul murmured back. The mellifluous yet mournful notes of a winter ditty caressed his ears, serenading his gloomy self, watering the parched oasis of his lonely soul. Through the corner of his eyes, amidst a clump of pussy willows, he espied a lone nightingale whistling the sorrowful dirge to its heart content, the soft notes like wisps of invisible smoke bent on choking out the remains of a bygone joy.
He bent down to gather a bouquet of violets, forget-me-nots and belladonnas and continued walking, his spirits momentarily refreshed. "Mrs Bear would be pleasantly surprised" he gurgled as he sauntered over a bridge. He leaned over the wooden railings and dropped a pebble into the brooding book below, rippling the still waters of the glassy stream, he watched transfixed as the ripples ruffled the glassy surface . Beyond lay a green meadow peppered with speckles of yellow and blue, hiding shy cowslips and bashful violets, petals glistening in the showers of sunshine as the last dews of the frosty night momentarily sighed and evaporated into the May evening .
A wooden fence bordered the meadow, wreathed in blue morning glory and crimson bittersweet. Instinctively, Changeling leapt over the railings, the plash of water soaking his boots. Gingerly, he trudged up the gentle slope, trampling through the clumps of bleeding hearts that seemed to wrap their tiny tendrils around his exposed ankles. He sat down to catch his breath amidst the squashed bleeding hearts, the cowering cowslips and the frightened violets, his wet bouquet of flowers by his side. Where is everyone? he wondered. Somehow, the balmy air of spring had a different feel. Dusting the pollen off his coat, he grabbed the bouquet and trudged on. A whitewashed country manor came into view just beyond the wooden fence. Through the peeling wooden stakes, he espied a rusting Hummer parked in the driveway, the lawns were overgrown with weeds and clumps of mortified chrysanthemums bowed their bedraggled heads in despair, the wind picked up and from within he heard a door creak shut…………… (to be continued in some future time)