All the songs of the east speak of the loveof the nightingale for the rose in the silent starlight night. The wingedsongster serenades the fragrant flowers.
"Clip-ity Clop," The sounds of galloping horses echoes through he streets. The heavy and thick fog makes it really hard to figure out where everything is. Asa is walking on the streets of Victorian London, a time whenthe Great Britain is oozing with wit and talents.
Asa is a poet, at least he claims to be one. He has tried many times to publish his work, which there is a huge amount of because he is constantly writing stories in his head or expressing how he views the world, for example how beautiful a certain flower is, or how blue the sky is, even though he cannot even see the sky due to the always dark and gloomy weather.
Asa also likes reading. He reads lots of different works of other great poets and writers; actually, he is always reading everything that he can find.
Asa's family live in a tiny little house at the edge of the street where no one ever goes to. His family consists of him and his mother; his father passed when he was born. His mother has been ill since Asa could remember; but it was her who did so much to keep this family together. And finally, she couldn't handle it anymore and cannot even walk, so she has to lay in the bed most of the day. Fortunately a blind old pharmasist lives not far from them; he has been treating her with leeches and plantain, which Asa didn't believe would help her from any way, but she is still breathing and talking and functionning like a normal human being would for the past several years, so they kept using the medication any ways.
"Asa dear, you have finally returned. Have you any luck publishing that little book of yours?" his mother's voice is heavy and rusty like an old nail.
Asa settled down his rejected works on the table and walked into the room. "No. ma. How are you doing today? I brought back more plantain from Mr. Williams." "Oh Mr. Plantain, how kind of him for treatingan old woman like me for free." Mrs. Butterfield sat up against the cushioning Asa managed to build out of old cloth. Her face looked like a dry piece of birch bark. She looked at Asa softly with her cloudy eyes; her hair dampened by the moisture that has entered the room with Asa. Asa smiled at her,"You look great today, ma." He sat down at her feet and put the medicine on his laps. The shine of the sun is still covered even as the fog was dispersing; but the room felt warm with the rest of a small fire in the fireplace. "What would you like to eat, ma?" Asa stood up and walked to the tiny kitchen.
To Be Continued