The endless expanse stretched all around the horizon. Not a soul was in sight. The grass had dried up to give the land a golden hue. The patch of green marked the path leading to the amphitheatre that was encircled by the stony columns withered by travails of time but standing proud.
They were the hallmark of eras gone by. The grasses died to regrow again.
The hazy sunlight dulled the lush of the green grass that seem to console the dried grasses and withered stones all together waltzing to Nature’s cyclical dance.
Beauty now dried up,
Ephimeral but not dead,
It shall bloom again.