Through my window 

A little somethin I wrote to help my class with imagery. Felt good to be writing again….

Through my window, beyond the patio, is a river of emerald green grass. The only island is a square of decking carrying the cube of garden dining furniture. Alone in the middle of the river is an empty washing line, like a skeleton, turning slowly in the breeze. Watching over everything are the two sentinel leylandi. Green Giants gyrating with the wind. 
In the summer, the small flower bed by the patio is full of jewels. The garage roof is alive with Virginia creeper. Children’s toys litter the lawn. Birds chatter like children. At dusk bats fly around the leylandi like fighter pilots; swooping and swirling in the growing dark. 
In the winter, the garden is a ghost ship; forlorn and lonely. The lawn is wet and muddy like a bog. We all stare longingly at the garden through our window at the rain and the wind and dream of long, warm days when once again we can escape our temporary prison and be free again. 
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