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Rated: E · Other · Dark · #1834470
Just some meaningless writing about the woods, well I suppose their is some meaning to it.
    The water created a mirror reflecting the life around its edges so seamlessly. The trees wavered in the pool, shadows of the actual trees that surrounded me. Cold sunlight trickled through the branches of the leafless trees bathing the pool in a weak, white light. Leaves littered the forest floor, browns, reds and golds collided in a rich mosaic of autumnal splendour, their crisp and earthy smell filling the air. They were so fragile, breaking at the slightest touch with a delicious crunch. Strange that such a wonderful sound can come from death, any life left in these leaves is crushed along with their brittle bodies. Perhaps, this is an echo from ages past, when ancestral warriors reveled in the sound of their enemies bones breaking on the battlefield, or perhaps this is mere over thinking of something trivial. Does it matter? The  forest is a perfect place for sitting, thinking, contemplating even the most trifling of things.
    When I am in the forest I feel as though I've left society far behind. As though I have stepped out of the busy, bustling madness of human society and into another dimension. Time feels slower here, meaningless almost; the trees are a testament to how little time matters here, they have stood for generations, as my own people have been born, lived a brief span and then died. To the trees human life is fleeting and yet we do so much harm. If only we could just stop and listen, we'd hear a planet that has been left behind and forgotten. Only a few still can stand under these great, wooden beings and hear their song, the song of silence. The quiet of the woods is far more beautiful than any other music to be heard amongst our people. The old places, these sanctuaries outside of own time and space are now few and far between and they grow less numerous day by day. Soon time will have meaning for these trees because soon time will end for these trees and their song of silence will voice no more.
    I feel safe here, protected and cut off from the world. Most humans would hate being cut off from the world but those few moments when I can truly relax and forget are the most precious. Even now there is the far off roar of cars; human waste can be seen hidden amongst the dead foliage. It is grim. These spots of perfection are being poisoned from the inside. What will I do once there is nowhere to hide, I fear I shall go mad, I fear we as a race will grow mad. We will tire of each other's idle prattle and our meaningless words. Humans have transcended above all other sentinel beings on this earth, we have evolved, but we have gone too far, forgotten our roots, and thus they have been severed. Now we are not even a part of this earth, we are merely parasites, breeding and waiting until this fair land is a withered husk. Soon there will be no trees, nor animals to kill and only each other will be left. I will be the first of many to go insane but soon the entire human race will fall, fall into a pit of insanity as the noise
of our cities grows louder and louder. We shall all stand on an empty rock covered in the rubble of a  destroyed empire eventually, the empire of the so called wise man, chosen of a foolish god, and then we will stand no  more. Perhaps then, can we finally understand how foolish we are and only then when our  skyscrapers are razed to the ground and our ships sink to the ocean floor will we remember the  true beauty of silence.
    But for now, I will indulge in my moment of silence. Under the sun dappled limbs of old, oak trees I can be at rest, gazing into water that creates a mirror seamlessly reflecting the life around its edges. Life that will soon be extinguished.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1834470