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Artist
Summer in Liora's Valley
The day began in gold.
Sunlight trickled through the thick canopy,
warming the bridge,
the gravel path, every sleeping leaf.
The house breathed silence.
Only the buzzing of bees
and the distant call of a cuckoo
marked the air.
The grass held the scent of hay and stories
told only when no one is listening.
And the water—clear, gentle, almost dreamy—
reflected the sky as if it wanted to keep it.
A butterfly perched on the fountain's edge
and stayed, as if it had forgotten it had wings.
In summer, they say in Liora,
time doesn't pass—it rests in the shadows and smiles.
