The Wordherder Online random babble by a certified loon…

Spring…

Today is one of those picture-perfect late spring days. There is not a single cloud in the bright azure sky and just the slight tease of a breeze that brings life to everything. The trees dance to a rhythm befitting their age—young saplings shake with excitement, happy to show off their brand new leaves. The tallest of them would much rather hold each other close to a slow waltz while the single giant oak observes, lost in memories of when it used to dance. It sways a few branches in acknowledgement to the beauty of the day.

Below them is a sea of grass, no longer still and flat, as the breeze drives waves upon it. Blades show their light, shy side only for a glimpse, and then the sea turns back to its darker shade once more. Newly born dandelions ride out the waves of grass, reaching for the sun – a warmth they are only just discovering and want more and more of it. Some leaves have set off on their own, laughing as they tumble past the dandelions like children running free.

Sullen stones remain frozen despite the warmth of the day. They know only the callousness and embitterment that befalls on immortality. These stones have seen such playful birth time and time again only to see it all die time and time again. The children leaves, now so full of playful abandon will wither and change with age then roam, lost, when fall comes. The stones have seen this act play out too many times to care for such a new warm spring day. Little bushes near them try their hardest to poke and tickle the stones out from their mirth, for they have seen much of the same and yet each new spring still shines their coats. But nothing can cheer up those cold, callous stones. They curse the breeze for they fear the wind. Once mighty mountains, now boulders; they had such grandeur in their youth only to become “decoration”, doomed to sit among such annoying bushes.