A journey, or a love story, a transition of sorts.
A spectacular picture.
It was cold.
I sat on the couch outside my room, the hotel was freezing inspite of the heaters and the charred fireplace. The drizzle painted the world a dreary beautiful, like an actress past her prime.
It was charming.
The trees grew like men who had known liberty, the sun hidden behind a film of clouds, glared weakly like eyes with cataracts. Tiny white flowers dotted the ground, and the only racket was that of birds finding their way home.
But I still searched for peace. The listlessness seemed to rush outside, rats out of tiny holes, searching for the romance in the wind.
There she was. Rays of sunlight peaking through, before the world was again covered in mist. But I had seen it, a spark of red in an island of green. I knew she was there, and the knowledge swam through my system. Without any visible change, the air seemed lighter.
It was calming.
In response to a to z challenge