Sunday, 14 October 2012
The ominous blast of thunder shattered the silence. She stood quietly on the old wooden porch and twirled her long coal black locks around her fingers, willing time to move quicker. Her olive skin was flushed with the memory of a broken champagne glass and dried up roses. The scent of leather crept into the sultry summer air and she dreamed of home… home where the clouds tell stories and the sunbeams dance and every day is a song.