Sasha K. Lotnikee

United States

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Night through a Window

April 28, 2014

He runs down the dark road; after a while, he trips. Someone reaches out to help him. There is a lady; with looks that are inconceivable, but her figure is slender. He gives his guide a whisper of gratitude. The village clock strikes three. "Want to sit?" She points at the wooden garden bench. Her voice is wispy and light. The world seems beautiful from this different perspective at night. The many hued petals of the daisy glow in the light of the thin crescent, showering glints of rainbow light hidden in the shadows. Half-wilted daffodils sparkle past the garden gate and the wind whips through the purple orchids. Silence. Even in the darkest night the vibrant lilies bloom. The other side of the world is here. The village clock strikes four. Sitting side by side, She turns to him. "Do you want to stay?" He nods. Chrysanthemums and sunflowers glitter like jewels under the twinkling stars. Life is like a flower. Always flourishing, until Winter comes. Alas, flowers die and become rotten and sour. We droop away, marred by Tragedy, knowing something better is coming in our Destiny. Hope. Waiting for Spring to arrive, when the life commences. The village clock strikes five. It is a wonder how seedlings grow into stems. Flowers, into fruit. Glossy roses hang on the trellis; their soft petals infused with tones of fuchsia. A floating tulip, painted delicately with nature's watercolours. He has discovered the Meaning of Life. How flowers continue to grow, in times of trouble. Hope is there. The two stroll to the garden door. Their silhouettes are revealed through the opening yellow glimmers of the sun. He turns to the lady. "Who are you?" Her hair is a fiery, flaming Scarlet, tinged with Orange. Her dress is crimson; inter-weaved with turquoise and violet threads. Her glistening aura glimmers in the sun. "Dawn," She whispers. Rising up in the air, leaving a trail of smoky grey, she joins the mountains, in the telling the world that Morning is here. He runs and presses his skin on the window, smudging the glass. Sun rays shine on his face, casting a shadow of pure light and Hope.

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1 Comment
  • paperbird

    Congratulations! You're the oldest piece I could find

    6 months ago