The summer morning carried a faint scent of fresh grass. As the sun rose, its rays trickled through the gaps in the leaves, tendrils entwined. The morning breeze felt nice.
The leaves were covered with dew, swaying as the wind blew.
A slight mist lingered in the breeze, gradually dissipating as the sun rose in the east.
Jasmine Yale's ward was on the third floor, at a moderate height, with a view through the window of the green trees and grassy fields outside.
This kind of morning was full of vitality and spirit.
Green is the most exuberant color, and wherever the eyes reached, there was brightness.
Sylvan Cheney woke up early.
He was standing by the window when Jasmine Yale had not yet woken up.
She seemed so very tired. Ever since she fell asleep last night, she hadn't woken up. Even when the nurse removed her IV, she didn't wake.
However, the paleness on her face had faded, replaced by some redness in her cheeks.
