Sunlight peeked through the latticed frame and reached out to him, her fingers of gold shimmering through strands of his hair; sunflower bright, the Midas touch. Flowers nodded to him as he skipped round the gate and flung himself beside the lavender stalks swaying nearby, enveloping him in their opulent perfume, closing his eyes and transporting him to a dream far away where this would be his and he would be free to dance in the wind to where he wanted, the sun's rays rippling through and turning him from a boy dressed in grey into a traveller of gold.
Catching hold of the dandelion heads, counting the cottony wisps as they blew away in the breeze like fairies dancing through time, he lay on his back and surveyed the clouds above. Pure laundry white, scrawled across the endless blue stretch of linen like candyfloss for the angels. The wind stretched his fingers out and whispered to him in a language as old as the trees and as mysterious as time. Enticing him away, calling out to him across the endless stretch of green. Up and away into the air he went and swooping around the globe, the wind left the boy far behind.
He ran to the stream, its depths gurgling and flowing through the rich earth and perched on the rocks; drawing his hand over the liquid silk, dabbling the tips of his fingers on the surface of that fragile mirror, reflection swirling into a myriad of splinters.