The winding creek flows through the howling wilderness, cutting through the white mist beneath the green canopy. This rocky channel makes the tranquil water gush against both sides. The stretched bloom of bright purple-blue Siberian iris looks through their blade-shaped green glaucous leaves, the color purple predominantly making hues of dreamy romance though aggressively invaded by the blooms of purple loosestrife swashing the path along the creek.
The path I had long forgotten-path treaded by my soft little feet long time ago as if centuries have gone by. I am sunk deep in the bemused loneliness yet enchanted by the mystic beauty all around. I bend forward to pluck those purple flowers. The touch so soft, fragrance so mild I decide otherwise. The beds of flowers swing along with the breeze, weeping willows sway in rhythm and the grass grow an inch taller every time the cool air brushes against them.
I amble in the woods; my dark caramel eyes-seemingly deceived, soak in the beauty. The beauty so mysterious, it creeps in my lean body like a snake swathe around rough bark of the tree, the beauty voyaging through deepest core of my mind. I feel the chill on my hands; the moist soil beneath- so gooey; the marshy smell powerfully tangles with the pungent stench of the dead weeds muddled with a stint of flowery fragrance-annoying my nostrils but the sound of oozing water calms the clamor inside my head.