Haiku

Pink and white blossoms,

Like tissue-paper pillows,

Gently dance in wind.

Trio of ducklings

Soft as the yellow flowers

They use as a bed.

Footsteps vanishing
To the cold, gray horizon
Of a frozen lake.

Fruit Salad

It was a calm Sunday morning, and Banana, Strawberry, and Apple were just chilling in the fridge. Suddenly, Strawberry turned to Apple and said, "I find you very appeeling, Apple."

"Aw, shucks. I'm starting to blush," Apple replied.

"No, you're not," Banana interjected, "You're just overripe!" Banana was jealous. Was he not appealing enough? He had more of appeal than any of them! And it was so easy to do!  Nobody ever likes Banana.

"Am not!" Apple retorted. "I'm red, and I'm delicious!"

 "Oh, I think his feelings are just bruised," Strawberry said, feeling bad for Banana.

Just then, an enormous hand reached down and firmly grasped Strawberry and plucked her up into the air, swinging her out and over the whirling blade of a blender on the countertop.

"No! Don't do it! I'm too young to die! I'm not even ripe yet!" Strawberry cried.

Weather

The still air hovered like a frozen blanket overhead, somehow tranquil and comforting despite its coldness. Like a layer of wool nestled against the flat, barren horizon, the gray, wintry clouds contrasted against the vast expanse of white below.  The undisturbed, snow-covered frozen lake below was an empty canvas provided by nature, with no need for paint or color, for the tones of whites and grays held a beauty all their own. Only a few trees dotted the foreground, silhouettes of small birch trees with black, scraggly, leafless branches and mottled white-gray trunks that blended to the scenery. There was complete and total stillness in the air; nothing moved, not the quivering of a tree branch, not an animal in sight. Not a breath, not a sound. Just a soft, silent, muted landscape of beautiful gray nothingness, punctuated by a few small footprints trailing off onto the snowy plain. They were recent, but already

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