inklings

It was a warm-weathered day as delicate petals pelted and pranced across the pages of an open book. Occasionally, a brisk breeze would materialize, causing a sudden soirée of flowers to take flight, ultimately embellishing the barren pages, which seemed particularly peckish for a poetic phrase. It was as if the tree were purposely parading posies in an attempt to gain the attention of the writer below. But the wordsmith was lost in a world of rhythmic ruminations, never giving the tree a single thought, focusing solely on the stark landscape of her inconsolable book. Had the writer even an inkling about what the tree desired to divulge, she may have taken a moment to meditate, soaking in the silent secrets of her friend above. But as this wasn’t the case, the writer continued to stare blankly, utterly unaware of the many mysteries that were longing to be revealed.

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/tree-cherry-field-horizon-nature-6623764/