Have you ever flown a paper plane right after the rain?
Through the gentle, cool winds that flow and dance in the air?
Watched as the plane danced with the wind?
Seen it pass over rivulets and streams?
Felt sad when its journey ended?
This was part of RISE (random inspired story experience), where I saw the picture, and started writing the first things that came to my mind. I was thinking about a time when I went through all these things about paper planes. I sat down to write a story exploring the adventures of a paper plane as it flew from my hands and over the various things around it. But somehow, by the time I almost finished it, it turned more into a poem rather than a short story.
The wind ruffled the neatly folded paper held tightly between on the tips of two fingers.
A jerking motion launched it into the wind and took it high above.
It danced to the tunes and matched steps to the beats.
It flapped with the birds and sang with the bees.
It passed over cloth lines, glad to be free of pins.
It passed over rivers, jealous of the swimming fins.
The smiling sun shone on with its warmth, as the passing clouds waved their lucky charms.
The light waves spread all around until they split through the prism of the air.
It slid on the rainbow, through the mist of a thousand hues.
It turned over and around, till white splashes dotted the blues.
It rode the wind, like a dazzling white stallion striding the hill.
It hovered midair, like a hummingbird eating its fill.
The journey of a lifetime, seen through the morning light.
The clouds cried into a funeral, until the end of its first flight.