The cold, sharp wind hits me hard in the face.

Trees dance in their spots, and the

Picea Glauca Pendula trees bow, as if worshipping to the night sky. The moon
and it’s dear children, the stars, guide me through the forest with their
magnificent glow. I wrap my thick black cloak around me. The silence left me
with my thoughts as company. I suddenly feel like I’m floating. The forces of
imagination are allowing me to rise off the mossy, mud ground. Thoughts begin
to swirl faster and faster round me. They become faded images of past thoughts. I
even spotted a thought of what I hoped the future would be like. I stretched out
my arm and felt the soft feeling of the images gliding over my hand. One image
catches my eye. Heaven. I must have thought about this when I was at least at the
young age of six. The time when my family and I were on the streets, we all had
been cursed with famine. The thought filled my head, and I was lowered back to
the ground. I walked on and reached my parent’s grave. I lay down and began my
eternal sleep.