Sunset

Sunset
Words: 326

The leaves swung joyously on their branches as the cool, fall wind pressed on through the forest. The trees produced a wondrous collage of warm colors, all wrapped in the dim light of the reddest sunset imaginable.

Not a single cloud blocked the view from the world in the sky. Squashed gently against earth’s flat edge, the sun lay with uncontainable grandeur. It remained there for longer than usual, allowing a good deal of light flow from its final hours. The trees were thankful; they had not been allowed the privilege of a sunset, for the fields hadn’t been harvested. Now, with the hills bare against the sunlight, the trees witnessed its splendor, its pure beauty.

“Don’t take the sunset for granted,” the wisest trees used to whisper to the young saplings. For years, the wood rarely received a perfect sunset. In the spring and summer, the crops blocked the horizon and spring showers immersed the sky in opaque blankets of gray. In the winter the trees slept, unaware of the sun’s warmth. Fall proved to be the only time when they could really witness a sunset. Some trees felt that waiting too long into the cold months would kill them. Thus, these trees shed their leaves early and wavered into a realm of dreams, ignorant of the wonder they would miss.

The trees in this wood never shed their leaves early. They were determined to see the sunset whether it killed them or not. To some extreme, some might say, but these trees would disagree. The sunset gave them a reason to live, a reason to wake from their long slumber. It gave them something that they themselves found more beautiful than life itself.

The night swept through the land and the trees were still in awe from the scene. The next morning arrayed the sky with storm clouds and the trees willingly shed their leaves, ready to sleep and ready to wake.






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Gekko