the vigorous, leisurely and dazzling spring approaches.
every morning, the quiet and tranquil i garden beckons me to breathe the fresh air and stroll on the lush lawn. the morning is brilliant and cool, dead still, with no breeze to stir leaves. the steady melodious trill of birds, the voice reading english, and my footsteps on the path are the only sound. along the path, the upstanding and twiggy small trees with fresh green leaves glittering with dewdrops herald a prosperous new year.
in the evening, i come here again. the tangerine sky glows on the small garden. the bright yellow primroses, the mildly green willows, the lovely nameless wild flowers variegate the garden. on the stone chair, two old ladies are chatting while knitting. their lined faces are sincere and their wavering voices are friendly. a gentle girl stands by the pool of glistening ripples, a book in her hand, her dark hair gleaming smoothly above the yellow page. she stares silently into the distance. not far a way, there sit a couple, the boys arm across her soft shoulder,the girl holding his waist. they sit close together, with one shadow cast on the dry lawn.