There were no more surprises that day until the sky began to darken. She looked to the west. “Oh!” she gasped, as a face formed before her eyes. “Hello!” she called. “I guess the Universe is always saying hello,” she said as the clouds rearranged themselves and the light faded from the sky. “You just
“Looks like rain,” Emma’s Grandma Frances said, looking up. Emma squinted up at the vast blue sky, then at her grandmother. “Where?” she asked. “On its way.” Grandma Frances nodded. “Let’s you and I find a place to wait it out.” “A place to hide?” Emma asked, excited by the idea of a new game.
Like gossamer dream catchers, clouds lay down upon the sky where their filaments collect hope and desire as fragile as a wish.
Great bird stretched its wings. Trees shook with delight for miles.
And there before her eyes was the largest spirograph drawing she had ever seen.
She looked up and thought the sky was on fire. Realized, with a touch of disappointment, that it was merely the sun playing with the clouds.
If my reality is a reflection of my soul, then what does this say about me?