wouldn't it be wonderful to gaze at the moon? Rupert looked out of the bus window, and tugged on my ear. He had noticed something very peculiar. The trees looked to be washed away. The trunks and grass were murky and swampy. "The roots..." he wondered aloud, "how will they hold on?"
The trees didn't seem very sad... just still, still with their eyes closed and hoping that they wouldn't drift away in the river.
The weather has been acting funny lately, with cold air that's not very spring like. The ground really is craving warmth. You can see it cling to the very idea of it whenever it comes around. A warmth that makes the grass smile and sing. The green comes out in the healthiest ways, and then it's turned upside down.
Weather is such a funny thing.
It's funny to see the bright flowers that are trying to bloom through the cold. It's a hedge of very dead things, and sticks that are dark brown and have to be tended to. And right in the middle are the brightly colored flowers that are trying to bloom and mulitply. It's comforting to see. They're very tough fellows pushing through all of the odds of the cold.
I think that it's a sign that the freckles in our eyes are mirrored
Warm tea would be wonderful on these cold days. Warm tea, with a paper that is half complete... and a mind full of educated thoughts that are too pursue an exam soon to be written. Instead, Rupert has been running in circles, shaking. Scared. Whispering about odd things and strange situations.
The weather is such a funny thing.
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