Thursday, March 17, 2016

Writing





The winding road reminded me of the gymnast’s ribbon, twisting and turning, as it disappeared into the distant hills. A lonely tree, stretches its arms proudly on top of the tallest hill. Its naked frame, black as night, overlooks the dry plains before me. Midway along the sand, I see my destination. A pond, shimmering, welcoming me. The awesome tree guarding the lands, reflected in the glow of the orange evening.



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