She alone

At this week's  Sunday Scribblings 2 our prompt is garden, whilst over at Sunday's Whirligig, our words are provided by Old Egg and they are misty world talk head again place silence beyond people nowhere beginning and everything.

She lives in a world of her own, isolated from the frenzied existence of the townsfolk beyond. Her home, a little wooden shack nestled in a wild wooded garden in the middle of nowhere. She is at one with the trees and creatures of the undergrowth.

In this place, everything she needs and all she desires surrounds her. The sound of silence is the only sound she covets; the only sound she hears. No need to talk. No one to hear.

In the silvery light of a misty moisty dawn, she stands motionless in her doorway entranced by sparkling droplets of dew which dance upon slender blades of grass quivering in the gentle breeze. 

Her eyes are drawn to a hazy apparition rippling amidst the aged oaks. Amorphous, nebulous. A  person? A beast maybe. Perhaps a spirit, for spirits dwell in these woods.

Mesmerised, she drifts outside. Barefoot, head held high and arms stretched before her, she glides into the hoary miasma.... never to return.

The end? The beginning.  Who knows? 

Only she and she alone

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