July 15th, 2009
The seventh of my “wordy writing”. Enjoy.
A breeze soughed through the copse, sighing a soft pule, as if cringing at it’s advancement through the boughs. I’d always felt tutelary over this thicket. It has provided me safe haven against my father’s anger, that could excoriate before he bellowed his first word. My quidnunc of a stepmother could never stay out of it, and always had to put in her own spiteful inaccuracies. Their constant obloquy had led me fleeing, right into the arms of my beloved grove.
My grove, whose lush green branches were daedal with life and welcome. The way the wind whispered through their leaves gave a feeling of love and encomium. While their embrace was only palliate to my eleemosynary woes at home. I have never forgotten my refuge during those hard times. The copse was my symbol of strength and survival when I was certain of failure. It could countervail the desperation at home.