They quiver in transcentental harmony as the sea breeze filters through their colonies on the gracefully gnarled branches brown and wrinkled, persistent wrinkles, flowing through the silent eternal past into the wriggling, slithering, dynamic present. They are green without the glaze, just a sombre matte that rubs past the salty wind leaving behind the sparks of a timeless rythm. The fragrance emanates from the white, delicate, coy. They fall as flakes, turning as their petals allow them to fall on the lawn where the buttercup flits tiny pinks blossom.

The harmony is recalcitrant, it is sense out of chaos, order inextricable fom disorder. The trunk rises and in parts falls back to the ground to rise again with surreal grace, as if the fall had a posessive purpose. The twitter is varied and the abodes are in plenty somewhere among the cellars of a beautiful maze. They fly amongst the song of the green matte conducted by the breeze and the falling white fragrance that lands on the lawn.

It soars above the rest of the green and spreads beyond the reach all creepers, showering the green beneath it where buttercups play, with a magnificent and peaceful majesty.


9 thoughts on “Untitled

  1. Why are TIFRites not allowed on the lawn Sagar?!
    Your description made me want to read the
    post again and I realised I have never been on the lawn.

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