.
Cracking clay shadows; a curled blue sky blossoms–
There was an invisible power present
forcing the gears of the windmill
to turn,
churning out a moan.
The scent of a freshly sliced watermelon
escaped like a sweet song on the breeze.
Ants got in a line and
began to march, chanting;
“Hup, two. Hup!
Hup, two…
Hup”
.
