The House on the Hill

There's a house on a hill, a hill of emerald blades of grass blown down from the wind. A house of stone and wood that has withstood the burden of time. The hill, a gentle swell in the earth, rolls down upon a lush meadow, full of flowers in full bloom. Reds, yellows, and blues cover the area like polka-dots on a dress. The field of color flows seamlessly into a forest of towering pine trees, imposing and foreboding. Yet, the gloom and darkness of the copse are broken by the calls of a blue jay. The flutter of wings and the chirps chicks bring life to the shadows. A crystal clear, blue-green stream, full to the brim with all manner of fish, drifts lazily around the meadow and hill and wonders towards the horizon.

Someday.
~The Piebald Penguin