the lost man chronicles

the belle of Spring

seemingly overnight, what once was merely a blemish upon what was already a blight, blossomed into a rotund bouquet of roseate petals sprinkled with hints of green.

it was the strangest thing to suddenly see this small bush of fluorescent beauty presenting itself so poignantly under the grey cover of the morning after the storm.

noted in the twinkle of a passing gaze, i felt as it this posy of joy might be demurely smiling at me, well aware that she had changed, transformed triumphantly from the ugly duckling of an ill-kept garden into the belle of the Spring ball, the coy pearl that everyone and all the other buds were wagging over, hush-hush and huddled whispers that corroborated that She indeed was the star flora, efflorescent debutante of May.

funny, the way things change and people change and life goes on rearranging itself whilst we go busily dallying in our concrete corners, so engrossed in sanctioned irrelevance that we remain oblivious to the chromatic and resplendent palate with which nature paints the day.

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