Devon’s Beginning

As you may know I follow Quilly’s blog Quilly’s Pacific … Paradise?. Last Thursday she did a post, Three Word Thursday #1 and to that avail, here is my feeble attempt. Quilly…Trickery I tell you…TRICKERY!!!

I urge you to visit her blog. It’s a wonderful and mind boggling foray into topics that make you think.  Thank you Quilly.

DEVON’S BEGINNING

The sun peaks up over the mountain top. The haze and the mist of the new day transpire upward through the fields of trees and plants towards the glowing red fireball.  The cool stream babbles quietly along its path, spouting its cool clear liquid on any and all in its path. The dark brown dirt covered by the grass, as green as an emerald, scrolls for miles and, as far as Devon is concerned, as far as the eye can see. The trees and the boulders align all in a pattern brought on by the earth’s own aging process. Coloful flowers of all kinds sprout up, isangelous to the trees and boulders that form Devon’s home. His abode. His sanctuary.

Another day he thinks. I made it! Devon quietly and with little effort starts to move about. His eyes constantly moving. Looking all around for any movement, any trouble, any one of those cynicocratical birds of prey.

“Bastards” he thinks to himself.

Devon is aware they fly above in the clear blue sky. Hunting for anything to swoop down upon, grab with their talons and then dart away to devour. Satisfaction on their face and bellies full. Oh how Devon loathes them. Every day, it’s the same old ritual and every day that Devon lives he is grateful.

“Why oh why do these birds of prey seem to think I am volgivagant?” he thinks.

“I mind my own business, do harm to no one and just enjoy the day. Yet day after day it starts all over again.  I breathe a sigh of relief when I have lived another day” he crones. “Oh well, move on.  Nothing ever changes.” He continues to enjoy the new day, watching closely for those birds of prey.

Oh the life of a grasshopper.