The warm afternoon

23 Canadian Geese flew overhead. Slowly and orderly. Wings flapping in unison - flap-flap-flap. I couldn't hear the flapping but it must have gone

flap-
flap-
flap-
flap.....


The only disharmony perhaps was their randomly placed calls. Now and then an odd loud cackle. Nobody answered from earth except for my mind.

A few bright red tulips were swaying in the gentle breeze of the warm afternoon. Did they hear the geese? Did they?

And did the dark moist ground around them see the Geese? Did it?

A little house by the roadside of a curving lane stood mute. Hiding all the life within its walls. No intruder would be a part of that, let imagination be but no reality leaked out through the walls. The windows were partly opened, just enough for the outside life to get in while the inside life still was secure within.

A rustle in the undergrowth. While another flock of Geese flew overhead. A butterfly whispered something to a half opened flower and quickly moved away. Perhaps it was teasing the flower.

A perfect warm afternoon. Perfect ! But where was I? Where?

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Tag: Literature Prose

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