Somewhere far over the hill, around dusk, when the sky glowed a vibrant violet, a ghost as bright as the moon would appear. The ghost would lie in the vibrant lavender bushes with Monarch butterflies fluttering overhead, and then around dawn, the sun would come up, and the ghost would go away, not to return again until the next day. Closeby, the small cottages line the water with water mills and sunflower bushes. Down by the quiet riverbank, where the cold water rushes by, the mist spraying any who stands near. The shimmer of the water reflecting off the sunlight at dawn. Eternity by Claire Tate ’30 83
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