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04/07/2020
Mörderbiene
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Mörderbiene
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Penhaligon's - An obituary of headless vegetarian scents, tenth strike
Early morning.
Lights of the deciduous forest.
The path from the small hamlet to the next village is lined with dense blue flower carpets on both sides of the narrow path.
The damp soil bounces the steps.
Steam clouds rise from the ground, against which the rays of light from the still low sun, broken by the green foliage of the gnarled trees, are clearly visible.
Dewdrops sparkle in a race.
Leaves rustle, drops fall, squirrels scurry, birds chirp.
It is still fresh, but the coming heat of the day is foreseeable.
The incident light paints a marbled pattern on the floor and makes bruises glow.
The smell of damp, cold air, the green breath of the old trees and thousands of small blue flower heads rises to the nose.
It'll be a nice day, I think.
And put the blue soap back before I leave the bathroom
Lights of the deciduous forest.
The path from the small hamlet to the next village is lined with dense blue flower carpets on both sides of the narrow path.
The damp soil bounces the steps.
Steam clouds rise from the ground, against which the rays of light from the still low sun, broken by the green foliage of the gnarled trees, are clearly visible.
Dewdrops sparkle in a race.
Leaves rustle, drops fall, squirrels scurry, birds chirp.
It is still fresh, but the coming heat of the day is foreseeable.
The incident light paints a marbled pattern on the floor and makes bruises glow.
The smell of damp, cold air, the green breath of the old trees and thousands of small blue flower heads rises to the nose.
It'll be a nice day, I think.
And put the blue soap back before I leave the bathroom
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