On the Shoulders of a Deathly World

My first serious short story written way back when.

      Skeletons of wood rise from the frozen wasteland of earth. Leaves are matted to the ground, reminders of the death that raged through the forest. A chilling breeze rattles the arms of the old trees. A leaf, an interloper to the emptiness, makes its final descent to the lifeless ground.

      Then, ever so gradually, it starts. A single snowflake vagrantly gravitates to the death ridden floor. But it is not alone. Soon others follow and more after that until legions of delicate designs of ice are congregating on the ground. The colors of darkness, death, and nonexistence are paled by the showers of white.

      Listen. What do you hear? Silence. But then again, listen closely. You can hear the squirrels, blanketed by their bushy tails, dreaming of the warm weather and acorns the size of apples. The trees can be heard conversing about the past snows and how the younger generations complain too much. Listen carefully and you can hear what cannot be heard. You can hear everything, but nothing.

      The snow continues to fall, making a smooth, white blanket on everything it lands on. Bare ragged trees are clothed in white garments. As light gradually fades from the forest, the dull, deathly earth is forgotten in a state of serenity and peaceful slumber. Into the night rests the tired and depressed souls of nature, a sleep well deserved. It continues to snow.

     The early dawn reveals a fresh, white landscape. The previous evening's burdens are now but a distant memory, reduced by the solace of a winter's sleep. Silence exudes through the atmosphere as Nature's denizens, tucked in by the night of snow, rest in perfect tranquility. Then, as an alarm clock to the wilderness, a warm breeze gently blows through the trees. Slowly, rejuvenated residents of the wood begin to stir into consciousness. The trees moan and yawn from their annual rest. They stretch their limbs; the popping of the joints fills the forest. The snow falls to the ground as the trees, young and old, shake off their coats from the previous night. The winter birds begin their daily good morning's and how do you do's.

      The sun, now well into the sky, steps out from behind a cloud sending its warming rays across the earth. Soon the drip-drip pattering of water from the melting snow can be heard throughout the forest. Instead of a smooth, white blanket covering the ground, it had been replaced by crumpled, dirty sheets of snow and slush.

     Then, to the awe and wonder of the flora and fauna, a patch of ground is revealed. The death and misery that had resided there was overcome by a patch of fresh, green grass. And thus, spring had come, welcomed by the shoulders of a deathly world.

Reviews

[Siren]

Great job on this. I loved reading it. The slow pace that you give it echoes the peaceful feeling that comes about. You liven up the change of seasons with this story, and it's very well done. Keep up the awesome work :D

[AriV]

Beautiful words and descriptions that blend together and create this wonderful scenery! Loved everything about it, especially the bits with the personification of the trees and nature, well done