Peace

I was sitting outside my little home and was suddenly inspired to write this calming scene. I hope I brought to mind warmth, comfort, almost like a verbal Thomas Kinkade painting.

It's a quaint little cottage, the walls a comforting shade of baby blue. The two picture windows are clean and framde in white. The line of the dark roof is broken by the brick chimney, tall and proud with a crown of trailing smoke. Shadows paint half the cottage in patches and whorls of dark as the sun slowly sinks behind the trees. The small porch with its white railing is cool and inviting, home to two wicker chairs and a large potted bush. Flowers are blooming, like a patchwork quilt, in the planter at the porch's front. The little brown door is shut, a glow of candlelight seeping from the painted glass window set within the wood. There's a carved sign beside the door, naming the peaceful home as Lone Pine Cottage.

The ground before the small house is a lush field of grass, greener than the needles of the pine trees. The edge of the little clearing is bordered by a chuckling stream, the water lapping at its shallow banks and drifting lazily along to disappear beneath the pines. These towering trees are dark near the ground, the sun leaving day behind. But the tops of the trees are still graced with light, their trunks glowing like burnished gold, their gilded needles glistening. The sky is pale, just visible between the pines above the cottage. Every now and then, a small form flits across the view; a bird on his way to his home. The air, still warm with summer, is filled with the chirps and songs of the birds, though they grow quieter the taller the shadows climb.

Observing all of this, the white cat sits demurely in the center of the clearing, the grass tickling her paws. A long tail is curled over her feet, its tip just barely waving. Warm amber eyes glide over every detail of the calm setting, their depths filled with a gentle intelligence. Every once in a while, small ears will prick to listen, though whether they hear the birds, the brook, or the whispering of the trees couldn't be told.

A moment passes, and the light glows brighter in the windows of the cottage. The door opens and lets out a soft voice, light and inviting. The cat's head turns to the house and it regards the open door for a moment. Then she uncurls her tail and gets her paws before delicately stepping through the grass to the porch. The long tail flicks once more as the cat slips through the door and into cottage without a backward glance.

The tip of the sun disappears beneath the horizon.

Author's Note

I wanted to paint a calming picture, and make the cat the focal point, without detracting from the other details. Did it work?