Full Size ]
The day was green, the time hard to determine. Puffs of orange floated by as the sprout broke through.
The wind whistled a sweet song over the purple hills.
Everywhere the pink sun touched cooled beyond the imagination.
Translucent ivory was the infant flora. Droplets of ochre wetness traveling from stem to wiry flower, then back down again, twisting, writhing.
And as each molecule in my dynamic form grazed past the nitrogenous molecules in the atmosphere, I whistled faintly; the song at the end of the world.