The bright azuré skies are calm as the white fluffy clouds dart across it. The tall oak trees seem to be reaching the sky as they stretch their branches high up. The hard dark barks stand firmly in the brown soil, that are scattered with pine cones. The evergreen leaves of the tall trees vary in all the possible shades of green as they ruffle with the cool breeze. The lake is still with the sun's rays brilliantly reflecting off the surface.
Grey clouds start to dot the sky, subtly taking their place between the white ones. The soft breeze gets colder and more forced as the leaves wildly dance to the rhythm. Ripples are starting to form in the previously stagnant lake with the falling drops of water from the sky. The mild drizzle with the cold wind, is what stirs the immediate change in the weather.
I breathe in the fresh cool air and get the pleasant smell of petrichor, as my eyelids drop and I am overcome by a deep slumber.
YOU ARE READING
The Real World
PoetryLike a Phoenix, her hope helped her rise from the ashes after every fall.
