If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time or the tools to write - Stephen King, On Writing, p. 147
The worm wriggled across the flowerbed. Vivid pink against the dull brown of the earth. The bird watched from its perch in the concealing shrubbery. The allure was too much. Nature would have her moment. The bird swept down as the cat shot out of the cat-flap.