Nightingales Saga

 Nightingale songs arose from the steaming crisp lake, as it bent around spiraled latches not yet primed for summer. Those songs a melody that winter kept shrouded in mysterious glass vases, nearly cracked by the voice of the flower opera, that were swaying in rhythm with the beach breezes, pattering  cymatic brush strokes of snaky sand serpents that had no fangs. 

One Nightingale barely escaped a Sand Serpents strike, while a plume of feathers sprouted upward like fleeing dandelions, flying for their fragile lives. Dainty as their lives were however, they still grew from the cracks of pavement, something that all 'ments' were terribly afraid of. What would happen if the fleeing dandelions penetrated to the core of the matter? What then? Is that when inconvenient truths would blossom, sending forth their rays into the deepest of White Matters?

No one really knew, and frankly, no one really cared at that point. For after all, it was the same Nightingale Song that had been playing for thousands of years, and everyone had heard it over and over and over again, so much so, that the noise of the bird was just a drowning message of utter stupidity. Just to verify, a dictionary was grabbed from the book shelf, and the word Stupid was looked up, and there it was, a damn picture of that Nightingale. 

While putting the dictionary back on the shelf, a poetry book dropped on the floor that was near it, a book full of collections of poems. Out of curiousness, the finger that was inside the page of the book was looked at, and the top titled poem was named "The Night In Gale". I grimace shook over, thinking, "if I see that damn bird agian", but upon further reading it was a poem about Sailors, and a Night spent at sea inside a Gale. Come to find out, the writer had an ex wife named Gale too. It was a book about a Husband and his ex wife, and a ship, and a gale forced storm of wind crashing down upon the ship at sea with fury that hell hath no fury of. 

Having had enough of that is past marriages, the book was put back on the shelf, to collect as much dust as possible, of course, and besides, that is one never ending story that will never be read again. 

(Yes, I'm a tease, but you read anyway.)