Silence was the conductor,
Of an orchestra called nature.
The rhythm of our footsteps
Was a cue for a bird to hit a crest.
Sometimes,
an octave of a twig snapping,
Or the breeze playing a symphony
As it rustled the fallen leaves.
The breeze hits a crescendo.
The rusted hinges of the derelict gate
Sounds a high pitched note in tow.
The murmer of the leaves then,
Disturbs the fireflies
and sets them aflame!
this & that
Random views and musings with a sprinkling of idiocy
Life, the universe and everything, Britta-style
by Britta Benson
Photographer & Travelogue Writer
the magic begins the moment you start being yourself
Not only fiction - an avid non-fiction reader too.
random thoughts
... a beautiful life
Tripping the world, slowly
A blog to inspire the insecure writer in all of us
Explore.Create.Inspire.Learn.Laugh.Live
suffering sappho!!!
Engaging in some lyrical athletics whilst painting pictures with words and pounding the pavement. I run; blog; write poetry; chase after my kids & drink coffee.
An Open Mic & Poetry Show
Straight From My Heart 