(no subject)
The sky was sinking into a dark mold, the gray, marshmallow cloads filling the great arc above me. But the winter-yellow grass was still reflecting the shimmering specks of sunlight trying to stay in focus. A cold, howling wind sped towards me, whipping my spirally hair into a crown around my head, as if a golden tornado had encircled my chilled face. It was a cooling winter day, and something was whispering in the air; something was bound to happen.