To wake myself up I decided to open my airways to the renewed air of a fresh morning, only to be surprised! Truly, one does expect a crisp air lightly gracing any hilltop in the after-night of an infant dawn. Today, though - today is a day truly happening at the edge of now. The singularity of this boreal nature is as perfect as the evenly lapping waves, without the salty bite.
A garden of greens, from the lot of planted hollyhocks and day-lilies to the grasses, trees, and hedge. The color, whether lighter or darker, tends to the green of deep enchanted forests. There are no shadows.
The sky is a smooth grey, evenly dolloped as the down in a cushion. Rain is fitly contained within them, though not a drop has wet the scene. The temperature raises one more hair than the warm after a thunder shower.
The infinitesimal pipers: a population of small insects. Their choral sounds are in unison. Equalized in perfect proportion is the zephyr brushing through the patches of high grass.
The old poets of the Middle Kingdom would be ravished by the scene.
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