On Monday, I found an orange leaf, glinting in the light of bright sun. 

On Tuesday, I walked to the top of Rivington Pike, with a view of the elegant fields of new born lambs and deceiving crows. 

On Wednesday, I saw a dark, rainy cloud, hovering over the dull, lifeless town of small, attached houses.

On Thursday, I touched the cold stone wall of the damp, old warehouse, storing many mysterious, once loved items. 

On Friday, I tasted the cloud-like candy floss with the tip of my tongue.

On Saturday, I heard the loud sequence of noises, belonging to an ambulance, on the way to an emergency. 

On Sunday, I dreamed of a leaf the size of a tree, a candy floss the size of a cloud, and a desert as hot as the sun itself,