Counting rhyme Of Another Summer: The Afternoon

I am back! I bet no one is still reading this, but I am writing again... all just freee flow thoughts, no real editing.

Oz

Counting rhyme Of Another Summer: The Afternoon

I was in the garden late one summer, just as the leaves were softly starting to change colour. As I walked down a path wriggling with sunlight through the trees, I came upon a small child sitting in a pond playing with the crayfish as they scuttled by his piercing hands. The child looked up at me with tears in his eyes, his eyes were dark and muddy as the waters surrounding him, but ever changing and effervescent in their play. He wore a small lopsided smile, one that couldn’t be placed for play or sorrow. His small face was creased delicately with lines of age. He was the answer of the ages.
He told me stories. He told me great truths, but as he spoke each word his features got softer and more serene.
As the small boy started to slow his ascriptions, I soon realized that time was slowing around us, the mellifluous moss in the trees was motionless in the air, the birds floated down to the tree tops, and the acorns fell with soft thumps across the still underbrush. When my gaze fell back on my little prince, he was fast a sleep on a lily pad. I pulled a petal over him and stood up and closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I slowly opened them, fearing what was to come.