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Apr. 20, 2009 The path had a life of its own and not only saw all the seasons but also witnessed myriads of seasons within seasons. There was nobody there save for a squirrel or two during the mean frozen winter days, and brightness shone, then disappeared while a cool and thick gray covered the forest floors. Then there was the deep and black night, when silence abounded and called out, when the hours were as days, and sometimes a branch would break and resonate so loudly that it felt as if the world had cracked. In the autumn there were mice and still the snakes roamed, ancient yet new, quick and sinister and sure under and above and through various bright hues. The spring was when the path teetered between thawing and freezing yet a few more times, when the future struggled to discard the past, and in this way the path was a metaphor for life. And this is when there were hardened parts and warm parts, lively parts and still parts left in the frozen nightmare of sorts. In the summer the birds competed with songs and the warm sun kissed the treetops. Sometimes in the early evening, a tree or group of trees would filter the rays into hundreds of light beams and they would shine as a group of quiet angels warming the cool forest floor underneath. ------------ About the Author: For more of Brian's short stories, visit his website: http://www.freewebs.com/storyandstory/. Email Brian Barbeito: Brian1750@Hotmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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