A Serene Garden Room
- Creative Mood Writing to Inspire ---- Descriptionari.com ---
A serene sanctuary was my sitting room, with white walls singing in dovish tones, its floor a nightingale hued herringbone. Ample armchairs were spun of sea foam thread, sparkling defiantly to any chancing dread! Ever its aroma was of Grandmother’s cream tea, Earl Grey and Victoria sponge infusing so sweetly. And, what a darling view! Such a view! The prettiest panorama to wash eyes anew! The gayest garden of an old-time grand manor did yawn as the most marvellous diamond mosaic. Yet days to weeks to months became!
A Serene Garden Room
- Creative Mood Writing to Inspire ---- Descriptionari.com ---
Indeed, the sauntering season's clock was its composer. Holly trees and robins remained all year long as garrulous companions and gentle confidants. The ever bolting beech hedge would wax and wane: from buds to leaves, to bare and back to buds again. The light would rise, bow and rise. The air would warm, chill and warm. The aromas would sweeten, mute and sweeten. Be it in the first featherings of morningtide, or the final salutations of eventide, that haven, that heavenly dove-nightingale room, is evermore unbeaten.Â
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Home's Stone Steps
--- Creative Writing on A Garden Room, by Angela Abraham ---
The Garden Room, My Serene Sanctuary
A Page from The Sweet n Salty Guide to Becoming a Poet, 2nd Edition
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--- Creative Writing on The Garden Room by Angela Abraham ---
A serene sanctuary was my sitting room, with white walls singing in dovish tones, its floor a nightingale hued herringbone. Ample armchairs were spun of sea foam thread, sparkling defiantly to any chancing dread! Ever its aroma was of Grandmother’s cream tea, Earl Grey and Victoria sponge infusing so sweetly. And, what a darling view! Such a view! The prettiest panorama to wash eyes anew! The gayest garden of an old-time grand manor did yawn as the most marvellous diamond mosaic. Yet days to weeks to months became!
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Indeed, the sauntering season's clock was its composer. Holly trees and robins remained all year long as garrulous companions and gentle confidants. The ever bolting beech hedge would wax and wane: from buds to leaves, to bare and back to buds again. The light would rise, bow and rise. The air would warm, chill and warm. The aromas would sweeten, mute and sweeten. Be it in the first featherings of morningtide, or the final salutations of eventide, that haven, that heavenly dove-nightingale room, is evermore unbeaten.Â
​
Creative Writing on the Garden Room, by Angela Abraham
