Asparagus makes suggestive gestures at her as she drifts draped in a gown of palest daffy down dilly through the spring garden. Past where the love in a mist waves its feathery fronds above the forget me nots. Past cherry pie, sweet peas and Chinese lanterns hinting of romantic dinners. On past the shaded glade where the music of bluebells accompanies the poetry of Chaucer, to the seat under the plum tree.
Her violet eyes narrow under her hazel hair, her red budded mouth purses as she wonders ‘Will I meet the golden Graeme Thomas tonight or am I doomed to dance with the elder Mr Lincoln?
Just a flight of fancy from me today, messing about trying to get as many of my plant names as I could into a paragraph!
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks for leaving a comment...always good to know that someone is reading and (hopefully) enjoying.