A Series of Thoughts
I face a small, wooded slope. An old, wooden bench seems to rest its weary body against a tall tree, as though it cannot support itself any longer. The tree welcomes it, and stands proud behind it. Its branches are bare, yet strong, as it waits for winter to leave its home.
I smile sadly; spring seems so far off. The sky is always pale gray, and the sun gives no warmth.
But when the leaves are gone from all of the trees, I can see the true body without any coverage. Some are strong, with large branches. Others are small, and seem to shiver in the cold breeze.
Squirrels seem to be the only living creature in the woods, but they avoid the human eye. All seems dead. But I take hope; spring will come, maybe not tomorrow, but it will come.
I think of how the trees will look when foliage adorns their beautiful branches once more. I huddle against the cold, but I do not mind it. It serves as a reminder that through life, we will have our winter storms, and our beautiful springs.
I turn away from the old bench and its tree guardian, and I face the wind.
"Soon." I whisper, "Soon."