The old man sat on the porch, his weathered hands clasped around a worn cane. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, a distant look in his eyes. Decades of life had etched their stories onto his face, each wrinkle a chapter of experiences. The creaking of the porch swing provided a rhythmic backdrop to the tranquility of the afternoon.
As if she were standing next to a lake, gazing at blue and red balloons shining in the night sky (i.e. city lights), she felt so lonely. Finally, bustling days gave way to still evenings. Moreover, what she did not mind about people was their size they seem as small dots but within them are huge thoughts that need release by turning her back towards all-that-is-unformed around them and concentrating on inside — inside there could be containment for all else; thoughts can be freed only when lost from public view. Each step brought relief from worldly burdens; now there was a gentle sensation of blissfulness replacing such kind оf moments in past.