Can Such Things Be?

Immense dissertation arose from the daunting cycle that teetered suspiciously and lurked in dark corners, launching ballistic wharves in blistering scrutiny.

Pulsating sporadic flashes rifted sunshine and shadow.

In the distance, a glimmer cheered. It was, by far, strangely pleasing.

Hollowed steps hastily thimbled the parched pavement, each perforating that which impelled.

Far as the eye could reach were tall, green trees whose drooping boughs made graceful arches. Scarcely did she notice how Time had deposited gently upon the soft, ochre moss. No other vegetation than what lay in sight was in evidence.

Gently, then gently, trimmings of lichen made way.

By way of ornament to the slumbering repose, a gleam darted aslant above her shoulders.

The object, rendered into simple reason, was one of hushed mirth and her furtive glances settled on its uniform condition of dust and grit.

And in it, thus, through the Reflection that it might have been, she arrived at the conviction that it could never be.