Toad's last summer
Toads last summer
A fine misty morning veil fell and settled silently over the dark forest of Tinkerbrook
Swathing the weary fern, the bramble and the tangle of thorny briar in a drenched cloak of shimmering dew. Blackbird and songthrush battled in harmony for the sunrise song of warbling worship, taking their cue from the waning moon , as it's pale blue modesty slipped silent over the horizon beyond the bleary and bloodshot eyes of the awakened and the rising, on the graveyard shift to watch over the dead to the night, weary of world sleepers of another far away land.
Toad awoke early this particular morning. The cold whisper and hush of dawns frigid breath saw him shiver in the hollowed out bed he'd fashioned beneath the clawing roots of the sheltering oak. As the chorus of dawn intensified and echoed through the dark forest, he shuffled along on his leaf littered lonely bed, just far enough to gaze down at the fresh young giggling brook below.... .Brooks and streams never age it seemed to toad, but he knew that, for him, this would be his last summer. He was old and bore the scars of many seasons but couldn't face the oncoming bite of another lonely savage fall...but for this day at least, he basked in the warmth of summer. Today he would bathe in the splendour of the dappled sunlight, listen to the faint humming dragonfly as they strummed gossamer wings against the midsummer air, brushing against the taught strings of his lonely heart. He would drink deep from the tinkers brook...rest his head against the warm moss rock of memories...and sleep within dreams of long lost summers past.