7135 trees appeared to wilt sadly under the

7135 Driftwood Ddrive was silent, almost eerily so. ? The sun was peeking shyly over the horizon, filtering softly through the large beech trees lining the yard and illuminating the lake’s waves gently caressing the shore.

? Blades of grass were conducting an erratic dance to the tune of the bitter wind as it swept across the lake and onto the sandy shore. The solitary, empty swing creaked sadly as the occasional gust of wind sent it swinging, it’s punctuation error usual occupants still asleep in the house on the hill.?? The golden summer sun hung low in the sky as the tranquil lake came to life.

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Boats, big and small, pulled out of bays and began their journey across the lake, creating tiny waves that marched steadily, one after another, towards the distant shore. Children emerged from their houses, awakened by the steady stream of bright sunlight pouring through their bedroom windows, and began to excitedly, if a little slowly, prepare for the summer day ahead. Joyful screams echoed across the choppy lake and onto the emerald-green grass adjacent as the children began their daily games.

Boats full of cheery neighbours chugged past, as did the boats of fishermen—, battling unknown marine beasts— – and the occasional stick.As the day would progress, the heat grew ever more oppressiveng. The large beech trees appeared to wilt sadly under the oven-like glare of the summer sun, and yet the children continued to splash cheerfully in the lake. Tendrils of sunscreen swirled languidly in a multicoloured sheen across the surface of the cool lake water.? Waves of heat rolled off the driveway like red-hot flames off a building. The small breeze provided a brief respite from the brain-melting heat, but it was not long until we could once again feel the familiar feeling of damp clothes sticking to over-heated skin.

Bright windows were the only light in the sea of inky black. The sun had long past dipped below the distant horizon, and the nocturnal cold had set in. The lake once again was perfectly still, looking eerily like a dark, glassy mirror.

The mirror reflected the moon and molten-gold stars, delicately arranged to form the various constellations sprinkled in the jet-black sky. Sporadic gusts of wind would turn the once still mirror into an array of dark, choppy waves and sounds of whispering would fill the cemetery-still air as the breeze jostled the jade-green leaves of the imposing beech trees lining the yard. The lights flickered off one by one as the occupants of the house on the hill slowly retreated to the sanctuary of their beds, and went to sleep.



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