Butterflies are left undisturbed fluttering their delicately crafted wings and perching on their intricately flowering shrubs. Swarms of bees gather in colonies, collecting around clusters of wild flowers. To appear welcoming for the bees, the sleek lilac and pink petals wave gently to the breeze and blow their sweet scent around. The tempted bees pass by and blissfully collect pollen, humming as they do so. Seconds after they have dashed away, a buzzing harmony echoes through the crisp air.
The vibrant shades of the green grass glisten under the morning shine. The meadow is coated with a generous layer of sparkling dew, reflecting off the sunlight like a shower of diamonds. Mounds of damp grass cuttings have been inhabited and hurled around by an infestation of moles, so I tread carefully. In the midst of the grass stands a large, towering scarecrow. There is an eerie, intent gaze coming from its sown on eyes and ragged makeshift clothes sag from its drooping, straw-made body. The freshly raked soil around it has been revitalised with manure, leaving a musty odour lingering in the air. A strong waft of it approaches me, so I quickly breathe in to avoid inhaling it.
A newborn stream trickles leisurely along the outskirts of the adjoining hedge, crashing into jagged, displaced rocks. Further down the brook the water collects to form a little nature pond, continually lively and full of activity. Elegant dragonflies circulate the rippling water like spiralling helicopters, occasionally surfacing to rest. Frogs cautiously poke their eyes out of the water, scared away by any sudden sound or movement. Pond reeds soar high above the ground to appear threatening to predators staring closely at the developing frogspawn.
Situated in the corner, at the far back of the field, is a dainty looking cottage. There are four rustic wooden window frames fitted with clean, shiny glass panels. Attached to the windows are customary flower beds planted with pretty petunias and pulsating pansies. Ivy has overrun the stone-brick walls, even daring to clamber down the chimney top. There is a faint, vicious-sounding dog bark coming from behind the garden wall. In contrast to the old, traditional dwelling, a bright red modern tractor is parked parallel to the cottage.
Murky, malevolent clouds are settling across the horizon. The sun is retreating, the sky is overcast. The meadow has lost its vibrant colour and polished finish. The peaceful sound of the birds singing has abruptly halted. Grey, mysterious shadows loom suspiciously overhead. A large drip of cold water lands on me, and quickly soaks through my hair. It is raining. There is a quick, powerful downpour. The pond is filling and the stream is increasing in velocity. The ground is quickly saturated and the grand oak tree recoils. The view becomes bleak and unpleasant with the soil being waterlogged and squelchy to tread on.
The surge is shortly over. Now draped across the sky is a beautiful, vivid arrangement of colours. The sun is peering through the clouds once more, imprinting a rainbow in the sky. It lightens up the dull, bleak atmosphere and sends a signal out to stir the wildlife. Slimy slugs, snails and earthworms have crept out through the rainstorm. The birds soon catch on and fly competitively down to grab an easy meal.
Water is still running off the waxy leaves of the smaller trees. The unprotected flowers have been drenched, now disintegrating into undistinguishable forms. A damp, earthy smell now loiters, relieving me from the previous rancid manure smell. The sky has regained a rich colour and the rainbow is fading.
