Summer's Kiss: Stream of consciousness writing part 3

Summer's Kiss


<sub>The fruitful air graces every being's lips, softly but fervently with summer's warm kiss. The bulbs begin to bloom, the dancers swirling their yellow, red and orange flares, they reflect the sun, with their beady black eyes that smirk, like they are hiding some big secret.

The green coloured elves that spring up from the ground all year round decide that they will go on strike for their beloved quencher, the dew that drips from the sky. But no! The yellow ball, the being of all decides to play hit and run, a ray here a ray there, it plays god with the dancers, the grass elves and the spiky grumbles.

The spiky grumbles, let me tell you. They love to like things that others do not, like the bright coloured tea cups that spring out in winter, they sway in the curling wind gleefully, but the grumbles...they curl into themselves , resent covers their gruesome eyes and they sprout hate on every other being that is tempted to touch it. With their spiky shields of superiority and their year round coat that is bland and dull, zipped to their throats, they stand and grow tall above the rest. Their thick main trunk that stands erect to the world covered in spiny dangerous pricks all of which have their own bleeding smiles. Razor sharp teeth ready to rip off more than they can chew. Be warned fellow dancers, they are not morning people. They do not like dew.

“How preposterous!” One purple dancer squeals, with her flowing purple skirt that has yellow dots embedded across the middle, almost looks like it has its own face. The dancers, swirl and show off their seasoned coats, “out with the old and in with the new!” They always cry, They reach out their spiny green arms and hands to catch the most morning dew. They grow tall in this season's temperament, but when the big ball of yellow decides to push them down back into the dry Earth, they have no other choice but to take off their lovely coats and replace them with holey brown ones, that eat away at their green biotic complexions, until they crawl back under the dirt, and plan the next year's season's coats and skirt.

“A bunch of wannabes” scream the tiny voices of the grass elves. These ones are not to be messed with , they sprout all year round and are like rabbits when it comes to pollination. Sure they are cut and ripped easy by the loud, chopping machine that grins as it rolls over and eats them on hot summer days, only to be spat back out and left as debris on their floor once again, they are short in size, thin and small, so many occupy the laden land they decide to call home. Of course they don't live as long as the grumbles, but they are constant with re population.

What really made them angry today, the first day of this warm season is that the sun decides to play hit and run with them. Blinding light splayed across their nests, that is as hot as hot can be. Starts to shrivel and dry up their frail thin silk bodies. Turning them their two most disgusted putrid colours they can be, brown and yellow. They pull on the most ugly coats, that make even the yellow ball want to rip the silver night glider all too early from it's sleep and make it nocturnal no more. Even the spiky grumbles close their eyes and smile at the sun, persuading the silver circle to hurry up! The dancers are not impressed and they turn their flowing colourful bodies away from the bottom layer of earth, their noses in the air. So the elves strike on and on and on! Until the burning ball of chaos chooses another victim. “just give us our dew!” They say “Not an IOU!” The yellow ball is fed up and decides that maybe, for the good of all it's people it shall let the drops flow for a while. So it gathers all it's might and punches the sky, the water drops begin to flow, they will be flowing all night.

Another day of love and hate,
Begin the year round competition of who can grow.
I wonder what the ball of yellow will decide to do next, what drama it will concoct?
For it's amusement tomorrow.</sub>

© Rachel Young

Okay so more writing I did this afternoon, I had to write something! I just felt like writing, like a crazed urge to do so. Okay so no one steal lol It's my own and yeah Enjoy. It's obviously based metaphors of 3 certain flowering species I see alot during summer, or at the start of summer anyway and how they change. I imagine they would fight and think like this if they could talk. Flowers are supposed to be Roses/Pansies, Cactus' and the very temperamental grass. :D