Traces

One day the mighty trees in our forrest disappeared. The brook was a silent witness to this sinister occurrence. The brook embraced them since time immemorial. It radiated immense beauty, yet simultaneously carried a sense of threat. The brook was filled with life and death, like the river Styx that separates the Earth from the underworld. Time flowed like water, fluid and elusive. Every hour of the day, the brook had some surprise to offer. Small changes in light and color could bring forth an entire microcosm, like images that open doors to our own memories. Sometimes, those images could be almost tasted, like a form of synesthesia. Leaves lay on the ground as echoes of their graceful presence. With every absence, new stories emerge. Nature writes her own story, sometimes even literally. In a weathered trunk of a tree, bark beetles engraved an untold tale like poets. The silent traces of climate change.