If I could paint you a picture using only my words...I'd bring you to snow capped mountains, rippling like white satin in the breeze.
I'd take you to beaches and let your toes be tempted by the water with its piercing blue intensity, like that of a newborns eyes.
I'd take to you the top of mountain in autumn so the blaze of falling leaves could be the warmth for your skin with their vibrant red and golden hues.
And all the while I’d cloak your ears with the sounds of innocence like waist high grass, whispering tales of old and let the fancies of a wind blown daisy dance the prismatic wishes of children around you.
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Trouble at the Tea Leafing Café
The rain had started right around the time that Annie was buttering her second thick slice of homemade toast for breakfast, and hadn’t paused since. Not that anyone could tell. The windows of the café were fogged over, and with every seat filled with happy customers munching on fresh baked pastries or steaming bowls of the delicious soup of the day, it was hardly surprising. Annie looked around the room, finally taking a moment to breathe after the lunch time rush. Her old life already felt like a bad memory, a part of her history, always, but just that. History.
By Hannah Mooreabout 22 hours ago in Fiction
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