Forest Of The Seasons

The wind passes through, the chill echoing through the ageless trees.

The mark of time passes, and the world moves on.

Traces of the past faded by the passing of seasons, washed out flowers of spring are trampled and buried under the weight of the winter frosts.

As dusk falls, the winter land forest hushes, every sound devoured by the bitter cold.

Only a lone whistle can be heard, gracefully piercing the night.

The sound is carried on the frigid wind, a song of warm welcome, of happy times past.

The tune continues, echoing from the cold bark, up into the lonely frozen sky.

The empty sound seemed to bring that little more life into the silent forest, a release from the frozen winter sleep.

The whistled tune keened on, a lonely call, like a wolf howling to the full moon.

The sound brought hope, but kept in mind the growing despair as the cold rose, surrounding the forest in the seasonal winter.

But the song was that of the passing of time.

As it was, it will always be, forever and eternity.

As the winter gathers, the lush green life leaves the forest.

But as this is so, so is the opposite.

There will always be meetings, leavings, and reunions, that is the way of life.

So, with the song for company, the forest went to sleep, dreaming of the spring that was sure to come and be.