Answer:
The sun so perfect, the crisp air blowing through my golden locks; the colourful leaves slowly falling as the air ripples through them, bikers racing past me leaving me with the sounds fading. Golden light hits the waters edge, so perfect as it has begun to set, slowly sinking below the clouds. The sky begins to slowly turn darker following the sun like a trail. The grass so soft between my toes, grabbing a handful I counted them "She loves me" I whisper "She loves me not" I say, as the sun finishes its daily journey.
Hope this works for you.
