Amidst the tall grass, a boy sits
atop a wooden apple box.
Composed.
Playing the guitar.
Softly sending delicate melodies into the air, humming along.
Closed eyes aimed at clear skies.
A light breeze picks up, winds grow stronger.
Zephyr, that moves the grass, the green,
solemnly swinging it side to side.
Clouds now gather, move in,
blackening the sun.
Tall grass covered in shadows.
Cold is setting in.
The boy no longer hums,
the boy no longer plays.
Eyes now opened.
A deep breath.
A whisper.
Rain, rain, go away, come again another day…
Darkness fading, clouds diminish.
Heavens open, darkness breaking.
Sun-rays washing over land.
Fog lifts,
the air warms again.
Amidst the tall grass, a boy sits
atop a wooden apple box.
Composed.
Starts playing the guitar,
smiling.
Eyes now closed again,
humming along.
Filling once again, the warm air with delicate melodies.
Wishing for nothing more.
Because really,
what else is there to wish for?
