The Passing
the love of trees
This story used to be organized into three long installments, but as you can see- I united them into uno story.
This plot line has been done before- yes, yes, yes . .
But I feel mine is unique. It has some flava'.
Enjoy.
Kohana looked into the distance. She could make out the rocky terrain that surrounded her footsteps, but there was no sign of her mother.
"This is just great . . ." she thought in annoyance.
Her family had decided to take a holiday to Europe, for it was the last summer they would all be together.
Kohana was the youngest of three girls, both of her older sisters in college and her heading there in that direction.
At the moment she seemed to have lost her family while hiking though the English countryside.
Kohana sighed. 'While I am lost I might as well sit and rest'. She lay down under a stretching tree, using her backpack as a pillow.
The traveling was killing her. France, Spain, and now England in a course of 3 weeks had her hammered with serious fatigue. Her sisters Shina and Tori had taken her clubbing every night they had been in London, and it was finally getting to her. She was hoping to get some rest out in the English countryside, but to no avail, got herself lost while on a nature hike with her mother and oldest sister, Shina.
Kohana looked out toward the rolling hills of green, under the violet sky. She could just fall asleep like this, with no worries in the world. She was not looking forward to returning home.
'No, I'll just sit here and take in the trees, and the rocks, and dirt, and bugs'. She was not much of a nature girl but this "outdoors" stuff wasn't so bad. She smiled.
Here eyes gazed up above her, the twisting branches where a perfect relief from the suns torments. 'I thought England was muggy and cloudy . . . but this day is quite pretty'.
Her eyelids fluttered and pleaded to be rested.
'To bad I'm too tired to enjoy it'.
She wished to be in a real bed with a pillow a bit more fitting than her backpack. She played with the cross around her neck, a subconscious act that she did often. The sound of the wind whipping trough the grass, and the rhythm of breath and heartbeat became her lullaby. Her hand lay across her chest a minute or two later, rising and lowering with her chest.
Kohana succumbed to her fatigue, slowly reaching a peaceful sleep among the nature of the trees.
If magic still existed in the minds and hearts of man, many would believe that the trees talk, like the tree that Kohana rested her head. Like the old days of myth and legend the trees engulfed her with their song, pleased once again to shelter a traveler resting in the shade.
Once these trees lived in a time of epic tales, and watched in horror as the earth aged with no memory of the valiant past. Memories only the rocks, trees, and wind could remember in fondness.
They seemed to whisper it with every crack in a branch, every whip of a leaf.
Remember
Remember
Remember
