domenica 27 maggio 2018

Storyteller

I want to tell you a story. A story born into the wood, from an old weeping willow...

There was a glittering pond in the centre of a clearing. All around it, there was flowers of all kind and only an ancient big weeping willow. The place was so tranquil. There could be heard the voice of wind and the delicate sound of the water drops who acted as music background.
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The voices of small animals were the main instruments. The wing beating of the moths gave the rythm and the continuos and constant sound of the crickets seemed an harmonious group of strings. The sang of the cicadas seemed to be the voices of solo singers. Inside that silence, all those sounds started to be a beautiful concert.

The fireflies started their dance on the music of those special artists. They twirled and moved so gracefully, like pretty classic dancers, escaping from the bats. They danced and danced, but something stopped all for a moment.
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A strong deep voice broke into the concert. The solo singer, the leading leady. A big wonderful owl appeared and after a little moment of silence, the orchestra started again. And following, the fireflies and the bats started dancing againg, for all the night.
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Emily

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