(With apologies to Mark Twain.)

Blooming molybdenums dotted the the field that gently fell away to the shore. Above, a spandrel circled, catching heliotropes on the wing. To the west a herd of brunts grazed, the young hillocks gamboling playfully about the adults. On the porch near me a girl plucked at a five-string zephyr, playing in a corinthian scale with strangely sweet dissonances.

Such a great start, but I just can’t come up with a second paragraph that does justice to the first. Sigh…