It was the daisies bowing to each other in the downpour. The wind twirling and dipping around her. The long grasses swaying together with the grace of a church hymn, and the giant oak towering over all and directing with aplomb the symphony before her.
The drips on the rooftop tapped out chaotic rhythms – a cacaphonus percussion for every next step.
She closed her eyes and dreamed away the grey clouds above her into billowing tucks, pleats and poofs in the skirts of the dancers above her. The poppies bouncing along at the edge of the revelry reminded her of nothing more than little mademoiselles, clamouring for their next turn about the mossy floor.
Many moments swelled and broke over her as she leaned herself into the cadence. As the winds stilled and the rain was swept away she was left to herself – quite alone in her courtyard- to curtsy her thanks for the gala of the evening.
Live and Let Live 