Prose

Peaceful

The wind blew the trees out of their peaceful positioning. The willows that hung down softly began to shimmer into a mysterious dance; one only the wind understood. Trickles of water spewed out from the bottom of the willow downs and as they blew back and forth, the droplets were solemnly forced to exit from the leafs’ tight grasp. This forbids the once home driven rainfall to turn away from the murky clouded separated puddles down the cold path ahead. As the puddles began to fill, it made them once ever happy again.

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