by
Robert
ays go by one by one.One of those bright windy days of spring I was whistling a tune as I stumbled upon grey solid stones. Watching the rapidly moving branches of leafy green trees. As they thrash each other like a bundle of wipers. Well, skipping along the shallow stream. As if they never thought of the low living trout. In this whole time a lark was chirping a sound like a whole orchestra. Well the small paws of praire dogs scamper, carrying their soft little bodies away. And then it seamed to get dark, as if the animals knew too.
The End
Story by: Robert, age 11
Send comments to: Robert