The sun’s ray’s play on my face – Creative Writing

The suns rays play on my face, I manage to open my eyes and see the house bathed in a pool of light, making the old houses white walls glow. Between the walls, the windows with their mysterious sheen give the patina of age, reflecting the whole house. It has a rustic feel about it with a few pieces of outdoor furniture made by a complete craftsman many years ago. It is an old white house with a red roof and a large porch from where lots of sunflowers in their vessels smile at the sun. Looking through the windows made utterly impossible with the incandescent mornings sunlight.The garden seems heavenly, with its extraordinary polishs and vibrancy. The suns rays reflect of the flowing water of the catamenia alongside the river, almost painful to look at if it werent for its r ar beauty. The look of flowers and various strange plants waft through the air creating a summer feel. In the painted pots, geraniums enchant my sight with a large palette of colours, creating a peaceful fe eling.The sun is up in the blue sky, birds are singing on the trees and the air is filled with the fragrance of the flowers. The little passage leading up to the house is very quaint with its meandering sett formation, its tiny admission and the fences surrounding them. I glide my fingers over the preliminary of the door, feeling every fine texture and ripple of the mature oak.I return to the house deep into the evening. The sun finally let agency for the moon and in doing so has changed the sense of the house entirely. Its small gate and fences reassure me that it is the same house yet so much seems modify in some way. The bright sparkling blue stream rails down the garden had become a dark mysterious weirdo creature.The house is now purple with moonlight tainting the beautiful white that it previously was. The furnitures projects show distorted figures watching over the garden. Furthermore, the sunflowers appear as scarecrows with their noble thin body and wide spanned leaves imitating the arms. The moonlight has jaded the houses rustic appealingness and made it an object of unsettling nature.The garden has also been distorted with its lack of colour and texture, everything seemingly taking a troublesome form in its silhouette status. The once beatiful smeel of plants has now been frozen out by the chill of the air. The beams of sunlight return vanished, replaced with the dull smolder of the moon catching everything in its light and not allowing even a fragment of colour to reach my eye. The bees and the birds have left and with that comes the sinister silence of the shadowy darkness. The dim snake that was the route curls and coils its way to the doorway where I had once stood, nonetheless the house seems unidentifiable without the colours, sounds and smells that once made it such a special place.