Task: Describe an English landscape in the middle of Summer
The sun slips over golden hills. Waves of wheat and barley ripple as the wind follows teh sun so gently, waiting to catch her.
You ease back, melting amongst the medows. The poppies and the cornflowers provide a soothing blend of colour against the gold that suurounds you.
English gold, this heat shimmers. It is a rare day. The day when temperate Britain gives a moment of glory. A day to be outside. A day to revel.
And revel you do. There is a punnet of ripe strawberries that you picked earlier in the day. When it was cooler. The wine sits in its cooler.
These pleasures pale into insignificance to the landscape you have chosen. Rather than the red of ripe berries, there is the juice stained pink of her lips. The rolling hills of the fields cannot compete with the landscape of her body.
You lay amongst the yellow of the world that pierces your eyelids as you hide. You do not need to see her to know what she's doing. Or so you think.
The wind has caught the sun and it's caught her too. There is a soft breeze playing with her red skirts, red like the berries that were so sweet. Red like the poppies that burn amongst gold. The cornflowers reflect in her eyes.
Rustles catch your attention, and startled you sit up. She is gone. Slipping down the field she parts the long grass with bare legs.
So you arise, a little wearily, but with a chuckle and follow so gently, soundlessly. Waiting to catch her.