Muse |
Muse |
In the morning, crocuses spawn from the soil like coral on a reef; soon to bloom their lilac cups, where sparks fly as fireflies sitting in the tea leaves.
In the day, seagulls flash their white wings in a hush, a snow flurry heading towards the river, quivering in the breeze, swirling round as a fowl tornado. In the evening, the lights of houses twinkle like stars in the night sky, and before me they peek out from behind trees as I walk past, along the lamplit path through the park.
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The sun adorns the gold leaf strands of spider webs hanging in the trellis squares of my summerhouse. The squares are imperfect with a slight lean backward. A sudden gust blows the leaves and shoots them into the sky, making them rain down on my lawn; waving as they go, they land softly in chocolate curls, crunchy from the cold. The grass quivers with the breeze and the pink kaffir lilies flail their leaves as if dancing in the air, elevated atop a three tier planter. The bird feeder sways forward, bent by countless pigeons perching on its arms. The citronella spreads its tendrils out across the fence, looking like the dappled shade in a forest, green with pops of bright yellow, sun buds. The clouds go past, travelling on their own airport ground belts; effortless. The daffodils are stretching up from the ground, yawning and bleary-eyed after a long sleep; their eyes will open in a yellow firework in Spring, not long to wait for the show. The granny's bonnet and cat mint are already crawling out to join the daffodils, still in their infancy but bringing the promise of new life. And so I drink my earl grey from my favourite mug and look out across my garden, in awe. I am thankful.
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AuthorSamantha is a doctoral researcher researching the power of figurative language in advertising, social media, and mobile technology. Copyright © 2022
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