Saturday, January 22, 2005

this morning

Beautiful frost. Each blade of grass encrusted with sleepy dust, crunchy and lethargic, reluctant to rise on a Saturday morn. The field stretched out like a great bed sheet, gentle undulations under its sheer white frosting. The crests of the waves tinged pink from the vivid dawn colours spilling over the trees to the east, the troughs couched in blue-hued shadow. The air cold, the sky blue and pink and orange, the sun yet to lift above the horizon.

Breath deep.

Breath deep.

Breath.

1 Comments:

Blogger steve said...

hang on, i think it was more along the lines of-

fuck, its raining windy AGain and i feel sick.
i know its not quite as poetic but hey.

24/1/05 1:40 pm  

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