The Lily of the Valley

The Lilly of the Valley.

The girl stood on the edge of the cliff, and looked out over the valley. She was still very young, but also physically mature. The light breeze hugged her white dress against her full body. Her long, dark hair was wafted gently across her pretty face by the wind. But more than this, it was to her as if the wind caressed her soul.

She was out here on the plateau on her own. She was young and beautiful and free, and so was the valley. She felt the life-force pulse through her veins, as she enjoyed the energy of life and nature. The sun was warm above. The birds flew past, and perched in the trees. And always, the wind moved about and whistled a sad tune through the tall green grass.

Her dark eyes looked over the color and majesty of the valley. This was her place. Her world. She belonged here, and nowhere else. She loved the place. It was her home. It always had been. She watched the grass fields stretched out across the meadows, as the wind gently blew them to and fro. The grass swayed.

The river flowed dark and serene through the valley. She loved the grass. She loved the river. She loved the valley.

She was young and beautiful and so was the world. She smiled shyly to herself, as she turned to walk down the old mountain path. Two doves flew over-head nearby, and headed for the perch of the high branches of a clump of trees ahead.

The girl walked happily down the path, as it wound its way below towards the village.

The End.