Bittersweet Candy Bowl

The rain patters softly on the flowers in the garden, the dull grey of the sky dimming their radiant colors. The rain splashes in puddles collecting on the path that runs through the flowerbeds, the brownish-red of the path’s brickwork coloring those pools of water ever so slightly. At the end of this winding garden path, there is a bench that sits beneath a pair of majestic oaks and looks out over the rolling hills of the countryside. The normally breathtaking view is obscured by low clouds and smudged by the haze of falling rain. On this bench at the end of the garden path, a woman sits, crying. It is not the loud wail of utter grief, but the gentle, almost silent, sobbing of a broken heart.
It is for her that the clouds weep, for her that the flowers dim their splendor, for her that the brick path hides itself beneath reddish puddles, for her that the view retreats behind the rainy mist, and it is for her that the majestic oaks stand tall and giver her some small shelter from the storm of her sorrow.

The bright sun shines where once there was rain. The flowers that were once dimmed now radiate with many wondrous colors. The brick path once covered in puddles now lies contentedly amongst the flowerbeds. The view from the garden bench is now filled with the splendor of the gently rolling hills adorned with crowns of wildflowers. And on the bench in the shade of the majestic oaks the woman sits once more.
But today she is not crying. The pain of yesterday is dulled if not forgotten. In one hand she holds a pencil and on her lap is balanced a sketchpad. Its pages are filled with drawings: some are of the flowers, some are of the garden path, a few are expansive panoramas of the marvelous vista. But the one which she is working on now is one of the twin oaks, her constant companions and resolute friends. As she gazes up into their intertwined canopy, she smiles, glad to know that they, at least, will always be there for her.

good, really good. I like it

thnx

Congratulations on a job well done.

*bows*

Wow.

The funny thing was that I wrote this without intending it to have anything to do with Lucy or BCB, but when I looked at it after I had finished, I went “This reminds me of Lucy and her drama problems.” So I just posted it here as a ready-made allegory for Lucy and her constant troubles. At least there is hope though.

I cannot believe I managed to overlook this thread at first. ^_^

But that is wonderful (can it really be called poetry?) writing. Waxing indeed. ^_^

No, it can’t be called poetry. It really is prose. But that doesn’t mean I can’t use poetic language, which is what I did. But just to make you happy…

how many masks does ninja have to put on for his skillz?

A Ninja needs no mask. But masks give us unlimited possibilities for mischief. We do enjoy a good practical joke.

And besides, It lets people keep up with my randomly changing moods and connotations when they can’t hear my voice.

epic

Mostly just silly.

epic silly

Indeed, but that is why we love him. ^_^

YAY!