Trees are anchored to the ground by their roots, but they fly with their leaves. Leaves glide to the Earth in aid of an orchestra. They are tugged from the sea when the wind rips away their anchors. That is when the curtains fall, when the music begins to play in a soft delicate melody, when the dance begins. The conductor raises his black baton and guides the pair through their great decline. The first dance of fall begins slow and soft like a child's lullaby. The wind lifts its partner through the air. They come together closely as the wind slowly and carefully lowers the leaf until their lips touch briefly.
They part quickly, embarrassed, and the dance turns more passionate and erratic. The conductor's baton becomes a blur, but only for a second breathe. The wind begins to tire. The leaf shift into a plane and does a nose dive, it will surely hit the ground. The wind runs to its rescue the leaf as it jerks back into the air as the crescendo softens the leaf and the wind dance causticausly. As the tempo dwindle, their dance becomes more careful than erratic, more gentle than fierce, and the leaf would plunge to the ground once more for a final show of devotion towards the wind, and bend over the span until finally the dance ended and partners parted their way.
If this is the case what are my roots, what are my leaves, who is my wind? Do I even want wind? Who says my descend can't be eventful without wind? I'm quite jaded of people who think their soul purpose is to be their for someone else, it's quite tiring. What are they to do once they met this wind? Who are then? Wind doesn't just come out of nowhere and change you. It might help you get towards the right place and it's not always going to be their for you. Wind can be cruel and heartless at times, but it is every girl's savior, right?
Wind. Wind, wind. Everyone talks about this wind as if it's something that's more interesting than that strange abstract perspective painting you just finished. Girls, well people in general if you may, think wind is so becoming. Well wind can go die. Wind does not make me, I make it. Preferably with a large fan.
A voice snaps through my thoughts like scissors,"Why the hell are you muttering 'wind' like a nut case?" I turn my head from the window of the carriage and look at my friend. She looked very annoyed which made me pleased. Rebekah was slouched, well practically jammed, in the corner of the carriage wall and the soft black seat - she almost blended into the seat truthfully with her black ensemble.
I straighten myself up in my seat and apologize. "I was going off on a tangent in my mind." I simply say. "When aren't you?" A cold serene voice mutters. The voice belongs to Seraphina whom looked quite displeased with her arms crossed and her pouty lips. She was sitting in the middle of carriage seat with her legs crossed. She was wearing a loose ice blue tunic under a short black cloak. Her long legs were accompanied in black leather pants and matching buckled calf length boots.
I frowned at my friends. "Come to town they said. It'll be fun they said." She threw her hands up in the air, "But no. I feel so attacked. I did not leave the comfort of my room to be attacked by my elders." Rebekah and Seraphina rolled their eyes in sync. They must have been practicing!
I kicked the back of my heel on the seat's luggage compartment. "Well it is about time you go to town." Rebekah. "You're becoming a shut in." Seraphina added with a smirk. "Am I?" I considered. I hadn't left the manor property in a while. "I will be in the papers: 19 year old woman has stayed in her room for five years straight." Rebekah grunted. "They would definitely put that page in the back." She replied. I gasped. "Rude," I gave her my best faux hurt face.
The carriage's ride smoothed out as the wheels transferred from the rocky dirt path to the evened cobblestone road. The clattering of the wheels silenced as the carriage entered the outskirts of town. The only audible noise from outside the carriage was the clatter of the horses hooves. In the heart of the city was the old castle that most of the Onerian Royal Family had lived along with some of the Elven rulers. The stone of the castle had crumbled almost 20 years ago, and the city almost crumbled along with its heart. Some remembered the capital as the most beautiful place in all of Atura. It was the Bruge of this world.