It is summer. Warm rays of sunlight cascade onto your back, and you can see plump apples and blushing pears, dancing leaves and cherry stains on your shirt, colossal strawberries in your miniature hands, and plums, clinging to trees just out of reach.
A family of ducks wander by, waddling and wobbling along the grass. They venture close to you; close enough to feel the wind of the fluttering wings when the mama cleans herself; but never close enough to touch.
I perch on the lamp post outside your house, watching you meander around the trees in your backyard, waiting for your dad to finish with the barbeque. “Look Daddy, it’s Bert!” you exclaim and point at me. The man tosses a slab of salmon onto the roof, and I chase it.
The sun is beginning to sneakily sink into the ocean. As you lie peacefully in bed, I fly off into the dark purple sky.
…
It is summer and I am perched on the same lamp. I know that waiting here won’t get me any salmon, but I like to sit here and remember. Remember the plump apples and blushing pears, the dancing leaves, and cherry stains that have long been replaced by overgrown grass around a lonely path leading to a single bench. One of the planks has been replaced, and a lifeless bouquet rots peacefully at the centre. You sit next to it and face the sea. Look at the tall blue mountains, transforming into foamy white hills and they advance towards the brown sand. Listen to them crashing calmly into the rocks, smell the salt of the ocean and feel the soft wind, the sun’s last breath before it sinks back into the ocean. You look at me and smile, before you continue your journey, and I fly off into the dark purple sky.