Anna and her bicycle were at their phlegmatic best as they swooped down the crumbling, grumbling path. 'You bounce too heavy! You strike too hard! You cumbersome imbecile! You metallic monster! Shoo! Shoo!' Of reply, neither Anna nor her steed made one. Impervious were they upon this most joyous day. The happy wheels gaily spun. The arc welded frame remained tank-strong. Its cherry gloss shone in the advancing dayshine. At times she trilled it's bell as sparky percussion to birdsong. At the anticipated fork it bid the curmudgeon track adieu and paid it no more mind.
The shadow mountain was ringed with arrows of light, as if heaven's archers sat upon the graphite clouds. It's ragged feet, usually a sullen grey, bore the dance of gold with the good humour of a vampire. In the early light, amid the rising vapour, they knew the calling hour had come. This is what they had trained for, this was their destiny.
Legends arise from feats of soul. When the pure heart beats the monsters for for the betterance of all, when virtue is upheld, their story becomes a never-fade echo for the ages.
As a freckle-star tumbled from the heavens, the little house nestled upon the onyx hill. It glowed amid the black of that abandoned mine. Broken slates were its daffodils. Rusted engines whistled in wintry winds. Whipped dust was its only confidant. I saw it from the city, aglow and yet alone. Legends are born in such places, far from the madding crowds. So one day, backpack snug to my shoulders, I made the climb with fullest-heart. Then there it was, a humble concrete dwelling, white painted, cherry window sills and blackest asphalt door. Sunsetting, a hearth fire flickering life into window panes, I raised my hand in request of entrance.
A sky-blue kettle was a choir of one upon the stovetop, having its daily dance with the flames. In the maturing light of afternoon, it reflected the windows as sweet curving eyes. Jiggle-jog. Jiggle-jog. One could hear the water enlivening before it bubbled hot. Leah’s eyes found the window and the spring flowers beyond. Birdsong arrived as kite-strings. After tea, she'd explore on her own leisurely agenda.
Upon the hill brow that sweet morrow, frosted as it was, I saw a grin of white. Or perchance, I suppose, 'twas a frown. Either way, those pearly glimmers were whale-ish in all respects. So tiny! So many! So broad-a-beam!