The breeze sifted through the grass and hidden treasures below. Standing perfectly still, the rattling sound could be heard, mixed with the buzzing of bees and musical lyrics from the tree leaves overhead.
It had taken hours to hike to the meadow. A place of life recognized by only those who care to know.
Tiny wild violets peeking up at the sun. Old Man’s Whiskers, pink and nodding. Vibrant, red Indian Paint Brush stands in the greenery.
The sound comes once again with the wind. The seeds rattling in the capsule and papery calyx of the dying Yellow Rattle.
It had taken hours to hike to the meadow. A place of life recognized by only those who care to know.
Tiny wild violets peeking up at the sun. Old Man’s Whiskers, pink and nodding. Vibrant, red Indian Paint Brush stands in the greenery.
The sound comes once again with the wind. The seeds rattling in the capsule and papery calyx of the dying Yellow Rattle.
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Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Prompt - January 5, 2017 - write about a story about a rattling sound
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