The green meadow grass fluttered as a soft sweet breeze smelling of salt and sea drifted by. Small white daisies shifted with it, and dandelion seeds flew off on a new journey.
Trees lined the meadow, dappling the ground with shadow and light, and their branches bore mid-summer red apples, ripe and sweet and filled with juice. 
The trunks were twisted and knotted and old and withered from days of sun and days of rain.
And it was in the middle of this field that lay a boy, tall and thin. With shining brown eyes and wheat blonde hair. He had skin that was bronzed by the sun, from days of working, and his white shirt hung loose and unlaced at the neck on him.
Cuffs rolled back as he lay on the soft grass, eyes closed as he listened. Listened to the bliss that was silence..the peace that was nature.
He could hear the whistle of the air as it swept through each blade of grass. He could hear the clouds roll across the blue sky. The waves that crashed on a distant shore, and the birds that nested on ocean side cliffs.
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