a storm is coming

via





 

     A blue lake. Green trees sway in the breeze. Flowers of blue, pink, yellow, orange and purple, by the water on either side. The once bright sun, hidden by grey clouds, while short gusts of wind come and go. Birds call to each other, they know the signs, as they spread their wings and fly southwards. A girlish figure in the distance. The girl shivers, drawing her light woollen shawl more closely around her, the crunch of the gravel from her feet below, as she walks by the lake, the lonely road stretched out before her. Smelling the sweet perfume from the many dancing flowers, she notices a slight different scent. The smell of rain coming. The trees rustle. Teeth chattering, she stops, only to pluck a flower from one of the many clusters of colourful gems, before continuing her journey, somewhat more hurried, as the first droplets of rain touch her face. The blue, clear lake is still. Nothing is to be heard.

But not for long.

I don't write much. I don't feel the inspiration or enjoyment that so many other girls my own age do. But I have to write for school. And occasionally I write something that I actually like and feel slightly proud of. It's certainly nothing that comes naturally to me.
But a little while back, I wrote this little piece of writing/poetry (poetry? would you call it that? i don't know!) that I like to read to myself every so often. Especially with Dario Marianelli's Liz On Top of the World accompanying it. Try it if you like.


-Holly xo