In the morning the sky was clear. The moon still hung, pale, translucent in the blue gold sunrise. A fresh day. Moths yielded way to butterflies that danced in courtship couples through warm air scented by heather and sea salt. Bee song played a melody to the sea's breathing, in and out upon a golden shore.
At last.
Summer.
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4 comments:
Wonderful words. I could almost picture it. Who is the writer?
Pixie. Out and about and prowling.
We are wondering if Pixie and Jackie have heard any more from the publisher...?
So very lovely.
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