In a Solitary Mood Dragging the Hours

Boring is the passing of idle time, when the day is long and the sunset delays to dim down the taciturn sky with less luminous lights; clouds have full brightness and incredibly become whiter and brighter than they actually are... I am in a solitary mood dragging the hours! Grannies sit outside closely and chat incessantly as if they were whispering, are they shamelessly telling each other the secrets of their youth that fled from time as they kept them in those foolish and innocent hearts! Are they bringing to mind those romantic affairs of naive girls? Did they ever meet with their lovers in those secretive places? grannies will chase away any intruder who seems to deride their words and running from them Eddie falls on his butt, but the furious grandma chases him a few more yards screaming, " Go to play basketball with Grant! " Too slow is the passing of idle time by a river or by an ocean as if were there to paint scenes on our empty canvasses, deciding on shade and light according to taste emotion and mood; is their little hope for a masterpiece being displayed in a city museum... but unexpectedly an offer may lift our set gloom! How many stories could girls reveal gathered as the grannies having none to do; are we willing to share them as they do... without being prudent or feel any shame? Aren't love secrets hidden within the pages of long letters never opened to sunlight fearing the lashing words of mothers reminding their daughters that " Sex is sacred and it's a flame that unites two souls and makes them whole." And disciplining them with the rod of harshness, they become the nuns who choose deafening silence!