WRITING: Metaphor

Long ago I walked into a garden, greeted by a blur of colored jewels laid out on lush velvet shades of greenery, entranced by perfumed air, I stopped a while.  Wandering to marvel at the details of a pleated petal skirt around a yellow powder puff of spawning pollen, I’d quite forgotten time, and followed bees and butterflies around to flirt with all that drew us to the transient beauty of a chosen moment. 

Looking up I saw a glow of crimson and gold among the tattered green that spattered September’s sky. Within another moment crystal flakes cried down to lay a clean white carpet at my feet that slowed me with its softly swirling ever changing mood.  I reach the gate and find it open, bidding me walk through and yet I pause, reluctant.  One long look back, the buds about to burst in Spring, and I must leave.

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