Spring Air

Laying on my back, I watch the stars glimmer in the night sky. Birds sing their midnight songs, resting peacfully in their nests. Crickets chirp and cicadas sing, hidden in the swaying grass. The warm spring breeze blows over me, willing me to close my eyes, and rest until dawn comes. The soft scent of the blooming flowers wafts across my meadow, reminding me of spring days past. Night turns back to day, with the pink light of sunrise slowly creeping over the horizon. With the sun comes the birds, out looking for a meal for their newborn chicks. Their beautiful melody fills the air, and calls for other life to begin.

The Sounds of Winter's Silence

A cold, bitter wind blows through the tree's bear branches. A hawk screeches in the distance. My meadow stands in the middle of a forest, dead with the weight of winter. The wind rustles the grass, bending it to it's will. Crisp leaves fall to the ground, a carpet of sorts on the dead forest floor. My feet crush the withered leaves, animals scatter at the unfamiliar noise. The unforgiving wind grabs and pulls my hair, whips it into my face. The sun shines brightly overhead, not a cloud in view to taint the perfect blue of the sky. Dead leaves rustle, birds fly, rodents scamper in the field, and I wait. I wait for stillness. I wait for the return of the deer. I wait for the warmth of the sun to warm my soul. And I wait for spring. Spring, the start of new life. Spring, the birth of new flowers. Spring, the birth of a new person. The birth of a cruel person turned nice.