The rich purple velvet of dainty flowers smell divinely of the last vestiges of summer.

The setting sun illuminates the gnarled branches dripping with ripe olives. 

What manner of creature dwells in the tiny cave formed by some ancient spill of rock?

Seafoam sunglasses add a certain je ne sais quoi to it all. 

Freewheeling motion through the air mingles with shouts of delight and bright notes of happiness. 

The buildings nestle so tightly together, jostling for space under the winter sun. 

Splintering in the dry heat, it remembers the cool wash of saltwater caressing its curves. 

Life’s a bumpy road where you sometimes can’t see where the bottom of the curve goes but you fly forward anyways, just because. 

Carefully, carefully swim so as not to dislodge that bubble on my fin. 

I sit rusting, forgotten, among the fields, my final resting place of sunlight and blue sky.