The Dollhouse (Original Writing)

This is a piece of my own original writing; just a bit of whimsy from the cavernous pit that is my mind!

The Dollhouse:

Half past seven. The sky is blank. Like someone has taken a lid off of the world. The wind has died, finally expired from the heat of the midday sun, or -perhaps- is hiding over the edge of the horizon, tying a garter around the world. Or maybe, seeing the abyss above so empty and expansive, it has merely run away, escaped the atmosphere forever, never to return. I think I might miss the summer breeze - our Earth's most flighty mistress.

Ten-thirty. The Gods, seeing that their dollhouse has lost its roof, have thrown a blanket over the world to disguise its nakedness. We can still feel it, the sucking vacuum above, but it is good to see the familiar peppering of sequins glinting and winking from their lofty thrones.

Half past four in the morning. Somewhere, there seems to be a great yawn as an old oak tree rustles up its feathers for the day. The branches sway a little from side to side and it is with the tumultuous upheaval of the sun that the wind makes her not-so-secret return.

Twelve o'clock. All is well. The horizon has slithered away into some dark forgotten corner. The sky and the sea, forever competitors, now seem to merge into a seamless mass of blue, polka-dotted here and there with cloud or surf. The wind, as if emboldened by her absence, friskily plays amongst the hill tops. And somewhere -far, far above -a child rummages under the bed, brushes away the dust, and puts the lid back on the Universe.