There was a frail old lady with silver threadlike hair tending carefully to her flowers in a magnificent garden. This was the most elegant garden I had ever seen. There were somewhat robust hedges demarcating the garden. There were bright yellow flowers that made a circle just inside the hedges. There were unerringly picturesque red, blue and violet flowers arranged in an indefinite manner, a design that she alone could comprehend. And in the middle was the piece de resistance; a shimmering brazen fountain that dispensed silvery-clear liquid. I couldn’t decide if this liquid I saw, even for the split-second that I saw it, was water; it had this ethereality that I could not understand. The picture still flashes in my head, every time the liquid seeming to be something different.
2006-10-23
12:17:31
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1 answers
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asked by
cannon_primed
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