WIND WHISTLED THROUGH the trees like the souls of the dead. Gray mist hung off frail white branches, shattered insubstantial rags. The low moaning rrribbit of a giant bullfrog startled a pair of smartly dressed dragonfly, top silk hats beaded in moisture, nature’s diamonds for an evening ball. Their iridescent wings glittered, complemented by a lovely waistcoat and tiny pocket watch for each. The bullfrog, from his spot under the mist, croaked at their frivolity.
Written: 19 Nov 2015
Inspiration: the same place as for my NaNoWriMo