<p>An antique swing hung in the garden porch and upon it sat a solitary silhouette, rocking through frosty dawns and starry twilights…<br /><br />The days grew long. Shades of shimmery gold surrounded the garden. Flowers, budding leaves and parched grass were all washed in a great bath of sunlight. As the sun grew brighter, and the bees and birds retreated into the shade, blinded by the dazzling light the figure on a swing noticed the flowers beg for water and struggle to retain their colourful hue under the smouldering warmth. Nature’s most beautiful hue was it’s hardest to retain and realisation dawned that nothing gold will stay forever.<br /><br />As the world was getting out of gold, the leaves alone remained warm amber, but soon they too had withered. All that was left were bare trees. The morning mist had retarded the sunlight, leaving the day in a gray slumber. Echoes of green leaves whispering to each other, of pink blossoms nodding in the wind and of the late afternoon bird songs rang through the empty garden. The creak of the swing brought its inhabitor back own to reality… a star pierced through the dismal sky.<br /><br />The days were dark, the fog hung low, the ground was wet after a storm. The autumn sorrow thinks these days are as beautiful as can be. She walks along the muddy street, admiring the withered bare trees. She’s happy that the world’s asleep and the birds have flown. The faded earth and cloudy sky, the mist clinging to her cloak are all beauties to her eyes. The child on the swing watched and understood that beauty does lie in the eyes of the beholder and inhaled the sweet smell of the wet mud after the rain.<br /><br />As the flowers awoke from their slumber and embraced the warm sunlight, as the world regained its vigour and life, springtime gave life to the babbling brook, the green grass and the warmth in the breeze. The solitary figure on a swing learned that there always is a morning with more joys than the last. The world and the child gave thanks that the harsh winter was over.<br /><br />The swing still rocks... its occupant filled with memories. Nature’s child has grown a year older.</p>
<p>An antique swing hung in the garden porch and upon it sat a solitary silhouette, rocking through frosty dawns and starry twilights…<br /><br />The days grew long. Shades of shimmery gold surrounded the garden. Flowers, budding leaves and parched grass were all washed in a great bath of sunlight. As the sun grew brighter, and the bees and birds retreated into the shade, blinded by the dazzling light the figure on a swing noticed the flowers beg for water and struggle to retain their colourful hue under the smouldering warmth. Nature’s most beautiful hue was it’s hardest to retain and realisation dawned that nothing gold will stay forever.<br /><br />As the world was getting out of gold, the leaves alone remained warm amber, but soon they too had withered. All that was left were bare trees. The morning mist had retarded the sunlight, leaving the day in a gray slumber. Echoes of green leaves whispering to each other, of pink blossoms nodding in the wind and of the late afternoon bird songs rang through the empty garden. The creak of the swing brought its inhabitor back own to reality… a star pierced through the dismal sky.<br /><br />The days were dark, the fog hung low, the ground was wet after a storm. The autumn sorrow thinks these days are as beautiful as can be. She walks along the muddy street, admiring the withered bare trees. She’s happy that the world’s asleep and the birds have flown. The faded earth and cloudy sky, the mist clinging to her cloak are all beauties to her eyes. The child on the swing watched and understood that beauty does lie in the eyes of the beholder and inhaled the sweet smell of the wet mud after the rain.<br /><br />As the flowers awoke from their slumber and embraced the warm sunlight, as the world regained its vigour and life, springtime gave life to the babbling brook, the green grass and the warmth in the breeze. The solitary figure on a swing learned that there always is a morning with more joys than the last. The world and the child gave thanks that the harsh winter was over.<br /><br />The swing still rocks... its occupant filled with memories. Nature’s child has grown a year older.</p>
