The graying grass grouped in colonies, each glade like a glossy mound of soil about to tip over, each branch like a coral's madrepore. But what for? Being green was a nimble endeavor.

Trees were more spectacular spectacles to behold, spaced like sauce on a pizza; Some thick, some thin, with patches in-between where naught lay. That was typically the resting ground of grass.

Glued to his book, he nary noticed how niche an environment this was; Like a nickel, you found less and less the more you looked away. Yet when prying eyes peered in ponder at the glassy tops, allowing themselves to take in the light...

He put down his book, sighing softly. A heavenly glow emanated from the sky, sifting downward on dazzling warm air to those driven to stare in a daze of delight at the sun's shine.

Evening, tied taut like a knot, towered above noon. Yet nobody taught evening to track time; It was told by no mouth, no ticklish lips led awry.

Yet now was time for clouds. Boisterous beings, they bounced bravely across the sky's blue belly, billowing along with its brave bellows. Nobody heard night sing then.

He placed down his book, making the malign mistake of marking his page with a dog ear. Many must have made him so mad as to ruin the milky pages. Bad parenthood?

He sank slowly against the tree's spine, sorrowful but strong. Silently, strength steadied his back, stilling it to start the move upwards. He sparred sparingly with the bark, still ascertaining some temporary scars. None would stick.

He dusted off his knees, knowing he needed to knit his hands across his khakis before he returned. He kneaded his palms, nearly nicking his knuckles on the kōrainando-colored doctor's clip.

The doctor. Whoever was so silly to say a doctor shouldn't study science saw no sword in the stone to even fail to pull. Strange people, thinking stories were stupid.

White winters, working woefully across warm waters to wait warily as oncoming weather. Whether it won or lost depended on where it landed.

His eyes flickered in falter towards a flash of fairylight. Few fared with fairylight; Too fickle an opponent, yet for some, flustering and fierce.

Fighting was inane. Initially, it seemed impossible not to— I'm supposed to ignore it?— but it is indeed useless to intertwine with indignation.

He followed it.