Tag Archives: flies
She throws her head back with laughter as she kicks out with her pink-clad legs. Her fine, blonde hair flies out behind her. Effortlessly, she expresses the joy of the dance.
It flies lazily, in circles, above the kitchen compost bin. Its chestnut-brown tininess is nature’s deception. Its presence is a warning of a troublesome infestation.
A blond child runs along the cobbled street. A black cape with gold braiding flies behind him as he goes. I may see a boy, but he sees a superhero.
Hanging from the cows’ backsides as they graze, they swish. Back and forth they go, almost in unison, keeping the flies away.
At first, they look like flies, chasing each other around in the early morning sun. Then I realise they’re falling, not flying. Tiny snowflakes, lost in a place where they cannot settle, melting away as fast as they appear.