The world is her canvas, the flowers, her palette. She paints, beautifies and enlivens lands deserving praise from mortals and deities alike. ( Nature of its own needs acclamations from an audience that upholds its impeccably ever-changing beauty. It is a must. Otherwise, her creations are silenced, her efforts gone in vain, her existence rendered to none. Wonât that be a tragic waste? ) She creates colorful masterpieces, art found in timed delicacies wrapped in delicate aromas. She plays with the senses as the eyes may witness beauty, but paintings speak volumes when linked to fond memories.
After all, flowers exist to be admired but also reminisced. For their splendor, their gentle appearances blooming not only on soil but within people's hearts and minds also. They are ideal gifts and perfect scenery-- and free, free to be plucked and given, each holding their special meaning. And their creation is a spectacle to not miss, though scarce are the spectators witnessing even a glimpse of her ceremonial dance.
Except for a lucky one ( ah, if she knows, knows truly who's underneath gorgeous fur and buckâs eyes, will she still say the same? ) winning the lot every single time.
The deer comes into sight in the midst of a pirouette. Its glance meets a pair of aglow half-moons and a radiant smile. Her laugh consists of a lovely arrangement of tones, a song made from innocent bliss. Her bare feet kisses the ground and summons the prettiest of flowers, blossoming to her melody, patches of reds, blues, purples, and whites adorning what was once a dull green blanket. She shares the precious moment with her welcoming guest despite their identity still unknown. ( It isnât the first nor will it be the last of the deer, she believes. But what is there to fear from a timid creature? What is a valid reason to chase it away? Her goodwillâs too grand to even consider such a thought. )
And she ends her parade a few strides away from the buck, some bellflowers held close to her chest. â Greeting to you again. â Her velvet voice reduced to a murmur, she approaches ever so slightly. â May I offer you these? â ( @pseudonyist )
