Comic book clouds grace an indifferent sky; far, far, away grey rain falls as ruler-etched dotted lines. How the grey waltzes with the shafts of blue, water and light, light and water, round and round, dosey doe.
Black clouds cracked to birth a water-forest, a million trucks insta-grown as the finest of coppice-twigs. The echoes of gunshot-thunder, the electric forks, muted to an other-worldly serenade. Through them I wandered as a ghost, immune to the mundane rules of matter and yet feeling every snap of winter's fangs.
Black clouds cracked to birth a water-forest, a million trucks insta-grown as the finest of coppice-twigs. The echoes of gunshot-thunder, the electric forks, muted to an other-worldly serenade. Through them I wandered as a ghost, immune to the mundane rules of matter and yet feeling every snap of winter's fangs.
Slanting rain, volleys of icy spears, slice through milky baby's breath. Oblivious puffs arise to punctuate her newborn dreams, dreams that converse with wisdom-bruised stars. Drumming. Drumming. The rain bolts down. Striking, striking, hard enough to rebound. Dirty streets stutter clean within smog's tidal wash. Street-lamps blink on with a golden flood. How we wished for that glow to foreshadow any fireside hearth.
Neon bright came spring, unwithered by antiquity's reposing glance. Leap! Frolic! Dance! Old and new 'twas the blossom, evolution with a plastic sheen. Bright colours did pop! Birdsong did tweet-blare! Flowers did give so joyously to soot-mobbed air. One step. Two steps. Three steps, four. Leaving doth arrive. Spring up those stairs with ne'er a glance o' reply.
Petals origami-reverse at light's sweetest entreaty. Spring is here! Fresh butterfly wings expand. Spring is here! Aromas are our elevator music, humblest ambient serenade. Spring is here! Birdsong bursts forth as auditory fireworks. Spring is here! Let limbs ba-boom upon the earth and release the heart for dancing capers!
A gaiety of autumn spun in each tousled gusty-giggle. Tra-la-la! Tra-la-la! Oh, how the golden hues did laugh out loud. The breeze herself told tale of season's pass, of earthen aromas and cool merriment's jaunt. Upon the boughs the chestnuts swelled. Field coddled the winter squash did fatten. Mind not frosty day's approach, yet greet the change with slumber's downy sigh.
Frosted ground met freezing fog to banish tree and branch from sight. Oh, what a winter's day 'twas it! Beneath the boot did crackle the earth, puddled ice to glassy shards! Crack! Crack! Crack! On we trudged, our echoes a medley with wind's chorus-chimes. How the wayward twigs did snap at each numb cheek. Yet ahead we knew the hearth did roar and soup pot with ladle warmed. Onward! Onward! Trudge, trudge, trudge!
Upon the hill brow that sweet morrow, frosted as it was, I saw a grin of white. Or perchance, I suppose, 'twas a frown. Either way, those pearly glimmers were whale-ish in all respects. So tiny! So many! So broad-a-beam!
Upon the hill brow that sweet morrow, frosted as it was, I saw a grin of white. Or perchance, I suppose, 'twas a frown. Either way, those pearly glimmers were whale-ish in all respects. So tiny! So many! So broad-a-beam!
"On the day that you ban naturally intelligent people from university," said Clarrisa, "your opinion on sporty CIS women with high testosterone levels still won't make sense, but at least you'll be less of a hypocrite."
WARNING: You are talking to a computer who is banned in most of the Milky Way and a small internet cafe in Wyoming.
“To properly greet a unicorn in the land of Bwahaha, you must be able to tap dance. Yes, I am serious. No, I would never set you up for a practical joke. Come on, this is me you’re talking to. So, when you meet the unicorns it is imperative that you point your toes and dance as if you were Irish. Think “River Dance." Leap and twirl, leap and twirl! That’s the only way to do it! So, there you go, now you’re ready. Now, I must return to Bwahaha on important business. Later alligator!” Kind regards, Bot.Bot895.
WARNING: You are talking to a computer who is black-listed throughout the galaxy and by my Grandma Nora (who is very serious about cream pies being treated with respect).
“When you meet a Unicorn you must, I repeat MUST, have a cream pie to throw in their face. Yes, it is good unicorn manners to do so. If you don’t do this at once, before they have a chance to scream, ‘Just what the heck do you think you’re doing?!’ then all will go horribly, horribly wrong. Yup. So make it a good three inches or more deep with whipped cream and throw on some sparkly glitter for that special touch. Then, bombs away! Throw it! Yeah… and upload a photo to Bwahaha.NARS-T.net. Kindest regards, Bot.Bot895.
WARNING: Seriously? You’re still here after those warnings? Well, on your head be it. Bot.Bot.895 burns kingdoms as easily as matchstick gasoline tankers.
“Only the most skilled of diplomats know of this Unicorn custom. I’m giving you gold here. Gold! Take a feather duster, rainbows and sparkles only for our unicorn friends, and insert is slowly up their left nostril. Never, I repeat NEVER, insert it up the right nostril. You will know that your diplomacy has been a great sucess when they give you a horse-shoe shaped bruise on your face for good luck. That’s when you know that they really love you. Well, that’s all from YOUR GOOD FRIEND Bot.Bot895 for now.
WARNING: You’ve got to be kidding me? You’re still reading Bot.Bot895. This AI is stinkier than fermented salmon guts in fart-land. But okay, you’re determined, so…
“Last, but by no means least, lick your plate clean and burp loudly. That is how your unicorn host will know that you appreciated the food. Be sure to open your mouth wide, breathe in their general direction, stick out your tongue for inspection and then slowly lick the plate. Once this is done, if you can manage a belch or two, that would be super. You’re sure to be invited back and they may wonder who told you how to behave so very well. Your best, best, best friend, Bot.Bot895.
The sparks came as a phoenix-flower in the night. How its petals leapt and died, only to leap again! Perhaps its summer season was only a minute or so, but in our memories it was a sweet eternity. Then, one more it was blackest night, for such things aren’t born to last. Once it was gone I savoured the gunpowder scent and the kiss of coolest November air, until my goosebumps skin let me know it was time to seek the warmth of home.
The trees that took in the summer light, give it back in winter’s hearth. On those coldest of days how the sunny flames leap. To the whoosh of a sledding wind, her crackles are as a sparkly giggle, merry and bright. Sitting at the hearth from daylight into the star speckled hours, is perhaps my favourite thing to do. Add a good chat, a book and a hot chocolate or two and it’s the rest I need once the day’s work is done.
In otherwise total blackness, the blue fire leapt. What it burnt could not be seen. Was it floating on gasoline? Perhaps. It had a reflection the same as it would with a mirror; as high as it rose, it was also as low. Ted took a deep breath, inhaling the air. There was a faint odour with a chemical sting, enough to make his eyes water and his nose wrinkle. If it had smoke, the wisps were hidden in the cloak of night. All he could be sure of was that none of them should create any sparks until they were on safer ground.
The trees that took in the summer light, give it back in winter’s hearth. On those coldest of days how the sunny flames leap. To the whoosh of a sledding wind, her crackles are as a sparkly giggle, merry and bright. Sitting at the hearth from daylight into the star speckled hours, is perhaps my favourite thing to do. Add a good chat, a book and a hot chocolate or two and it’s the rest I need once the day’s work is done.
With feathers lava-bright the phoenix dominated the sky. Though she was barely larger than an eagle, her effect was dragon-esque. This creature, swooping above the New York skyline was a thing of legend. She was as real as Bat-Man or Wonder Woman, as real as the Hogwarts Express… Yet she was there for all to see, beneath the storm clouds that billowed grey, she was every sunrise and sunset rolled into one.
Arrows of light met the ground that August day a few hours past noon. The mossy-grass beneath the grand oak became dappled, puddles of light playing happily with those of shadow. Alice reached out her hand, raising it to the sun. Warm. It felt so very warm. Filling her lungs with the air of evergreens, she closed her eyes to make a memory. On the cold winter days ahead she would want to remember this.
It could have been dusk or dawn with those royal-blue clouds topping a long peachy grin. The marsh was black reeds amid the blushing ice of its winter-full ponds. It isn’t often we see this, thought Kipper, our home as if it were another world. Maybe getting up early is worth it. Maybe braving the cold air has a point. His eyes found in the distance, at the point of land meeting sky, and saw black tree-tops awaiting to be re-kissed green.
The blue light fell at the end of the day, washing greens to their softest hue and raising purple’s to their most vivid. Even the clouds that had been white an hour before were an enchanting steel blue. With the golds of the dawn and midday banished, all that was left was for the sky to wash black and herald the return of the moon. So we sat there, Earnest and me, feeling the cooling air that ran the valley floor, resting our limbs and feeling our heads prepare for a dream-filled slumber.
The daisy meadow was hugged with warmest rays that stretched out as a hundred arms or more. The sun was so strong that day that the dawn sky was not blue, yet a honey-peach. It could have been another world with that tangerine sky. Yet the grassland and the daisies were singing Earth’s most familiar song. Its words were long within the breeze-breath, as long as those outstretched arms, and yet retained the clarity of any fabled yarn.
One day the entire mountain top was gone and instead entire cities were in the shadow of a rock dragon. Its eye was as if it had swallowed the moon, for it was a buttermilk-glow. Its wings were the purple of heather clifftops and its body was a granite-grey. From its head and all the way down its spine to its tail-fins, grew great spines as sharp as any knife. It was quite high in the sky at first, then it swooped and the gale struck up by its wing-beats was enough to unroot every tree and knock flat the homesteads. The elders had said that life can be this way, the daily routine of centuries gone in a moment; this is the story of what happened next.
Keep track of your favorite writers on Descriptionari
We won't spam your account. Set your permissions during sign up or at any time afterward.