Painting a picture of Spring

Spindly, spidery web of frail grey branches like the fingers of a man 1000 years old reaching to the sky from his death-bed. Twigs and trunks covered in moth-eaten blankets of lichen. He quivers in the light breeze. Rattling and shivering, brittle and weak.

 The golden glow of the sun stretches its warm fingers across the brisk morning sky to stroke the rough dried bark. Suddenly vibrant green buds pop from the brittle old tree. One, then ten, then a million. Scattered and bursting with pretty green life. Little pink petals, furry and fresh slowly unfurl like a yawning baby. Dew drops from the new velvet leaves like happy tears of joy. The smell of citrus blossoms kiss their cheeks, the sounds of giggling children floats in on the breeze and swirls around their ankles.

A dark yet comforting cloud rolls in, the suns glow shines on through, the patter of rain hitting thirsty earth, a shimmering shower of luke warm rain. A magical sun shower lightly sprinkles their faces and tickles their nose. The smells of warm clean earth, they run and hide beneath the old man tree, snuggle together and gently fall asleep.

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