Late spring has come, winter long gone, the garden slowly in bloom. With frost leisurely melting away, a setting time to row out into the lake, is the fondest to do. To feel crisp morning air, gentle winds whipping, flow of the water below the stilted boat, as the paddles swell the waters at each passing strip.

Come cross, as the water lost its blue hue, changed with a mist glow of a gem that was painted in pale greens, popping yellows, spotted grays, and zips of sliver violet tint.

Weltering lily pads rested upon the very irrigate, with the lilies snarled along them, rosy crimsons messed with the dim gold and pastel navy, as snow petals where found in each flower, three at most each hold in layers.

Long limber cattails etched through all nature, standing tall and powering over the smaller vegetation below them; as the stems mosses but a solid brown eminence compare to the multicolor tones round, but yet, gives a calming feel through.

As the clearing skies shine down, giving a parallel lucid in the lake, to some would call it the negative realm, yet, the emotions for it never came to known to others. In ways off, a hollow is seen bared in ranges of multihued growing and wilting roses, where rumors overflow ears once spoke of, to what lives beyond farther what the archway holds.

One of those humor tales, it is a way, to accept an armful of love easily, if the fool is wise enough come near the start of winter with love, only then, consideration is weathered.

Nevertheless, for those who want a good scream, come here during nocturnal departed hours, for those as the years past, the ghosts rustle the young willows, through larger shrubs of berries, completing as the rum tint sun rises further down the lake, lending a smolder before all to see.

Subsist that said, the radiance is known as an admonition, to dare by no means to exit within, the superior the blaze becomes means for each step taken that lays front of the bend. Row nowhere near, as this year has begun goodly enough, risk not as this way is. For everything that has its beauty has secrets.

Spoke to those who have no fear to wear as a shield, row long ways to this place, and with a good eye, a figure is seen crouch and sad, eyeing outward to others to see to never come near.

Notwithstanding, for those coming years any will listen and do so for a chance to something out of one’s ordeal, will do in a change of pace. May good wishes come for those who goad stride upon the weathering steps, for sheer fun; warning comes at one own risk.

For individuals just desire the row, do so, the sight will takes breathe away, day or night.

 

 

 

The Rose Arches at Giverny by Oscar-Claude Monet or Claude Monet

Made in the year; 1913

Location when painted; Giverny, France

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