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Rated: E · Prose · Nature · #1837025
This is freestyle prose that describes nature's battlefield.
    Empty. Like always. Why? Why did i still come here? i remember, I was waiting for someone, or something. Nothing, nothing stirred on the barren field. Somehow, I just knew that it was a battlefield. Of forces that stirred way beneath the crust of the earth. Forces so powerful that it was beyond imagination. I watched, as the grass thinned and turned yellow throughout the field. The wind howled, and slapped my face with cold delight. Snow started to fall. I was not beautiful as usual, it was wrathful, revengeful, and finally, triumphant. I was chilled to the bone, but yet i waited.

      I saw something dart across the gray, and seething sky. A robin, the herald, and messenger of spring. I cried; cried with relief and delight. My tears pooled at my feet and melted away the snow. The grass underneath was revealed, and nourished by the melting snow. A thought came. I caught on a wing and let it in. Understanding. This was the battle between Father Winter and the King of Spring. The foundation of the cycle that marked the passing of every year and occurred over and over again. This lovely thought entered and blossomed like the unfolding of a rose. And hope of summer's arrival, fluttered onto the battlefield.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1837025-The-Battlefield