A Beech Dream
The gold fingers of her pretty green notebook knew no pen for a very long time. There was something beautiful and charming about the little book that hung upon her white knees. She was sitting within the furrows of sand where the threshes populated the area around Lake Huron. The wild sea life in this spot of the beech were so entrenched they had created dips in the sand which vaguely resembled the ocean.
Her stomach growled. She dug her feet in the ground further, moving her arms around in it to create snow angels. It was pure white but had absorbed the heat overhead like a thick, black, fabric. She wiggled around happily up to her hips in the stuff. Her blue eyes sidled toward the ocean.
She was gliding over the waves. She closed her eyes.
The notebook lay open and blank upon her invisible knees. The sun in the sky was beginning to dip. An avid pink glow fell across the wide pages. It was time.
For nothing.
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