It was a soft, lolling sound. The sound of a child slowly skipping around, as if in a hazy day dream. Singing, humming, 'la la la. la la la' constantly as she slowly skipped about the warm green field. Black eyes susans and yellow daisy's pushing through the apple green grass. A fluttering, gauzy scarf danced behind her, blowing in the wind, following her, wishing to be her.

And then the dark shadow came, began to block out the golden sunlight, turned the yellow daisys, and the susans into a pitch black and the girl with the golden hair, the hair began to turn gray, but not silver, gray, ash colored as she found herself falling down, down, down onto the soft brown dirt that had bits and pieces of rocks, gravel that stuck into her skin, tried to rip it open, but was too blunt to pierce.

        The black, dark cloud overswept the sky, no longer azure, the sun no longer bright, and the soft warm brezze began to turn into a a cold gust of wind, Father North wind blew and blew, as if trying to blow the girl away, but the rocks clung to her pink colored bottom and she would not blow away, she would not cling to the dirt. She sat upright, not proud, but shivering, shuddering at the cold as it tried to blow her away, and the darkness prevailed, not moving, nor budging to let her have the warmth of the sun.

        And she began to miss the sun, miss what it meant to her. She missed the grass as it slowly turned into a yellow-brown mess, missed the flowers and the summer warm smell. It all turned to brown and black, to ash colored greys and coldness.