The Farm By Izzy

The Farm

1. Old farm smell
2. Puddle of death
3. What now?

1. Tree’s swaying, drifting, the gentle breeze flows through my chocolate hair. Paddocks of emptiness are slowly flooding with spotted cows. Drops of water drip onto the drenched teary grass.
2. The colossal swamp comes into view. Step by step we make our way into the deathly deep waters of the vast and abundant swamp. Feet trot across the cluttered and chaotic mess that we call a swamp. A thought to be steady foot slips into a brown sticky,slippery grass filled swamp. I yank my muddy contaminated grimy leg out.
3. I deflate… my white socks were now a gross greeny brownish sock. I grasped the hose with forlorn in me. The mouth spits out the water. My white polluted socks become a snow white colour. My happiness had been restored. But what about my boots.