Golden Day

To wake up on a glorious golden day is something many can only dream of. To some, a golden day may be the gold of the sun or the warm glow of good company. To others, to some such as myself, a golden day is the shimmer of changing colors, from poppy red to marigold orange, and then the golden yellow of a buttercup. That is a glorious golden day. When the wind playfully dancing with the leaves, compelling some to leap from their branches. Even better when the rain decides she wishes to join the fun. She sings and the wind dances along. The trees and flowers are touched by the rain's song. Her voice is the jewel of the glorious golden day. Her song, so entrancing that some find the need to seek cover. They must hear her song only from a distance for fear of being compelled by it, like the song of hundreds of sirens. We seek cover so the wind and rain can enjoy their song and dance. It is a wondrous golden day. When the wind and rain finish their performance and leave together to who knows where, and the leaves and flowers are covered in thousands of jewels, glimmering and singing soft lullabies reminiscent of the rain who decorated them so. What a beautiful, golden day.