abigail_and_bean

In the dusk, winds blow, rustling the tree branches upon the trees. A forest opens into a wide field eventually leading to a small farm in a small town. But this town doesn't show up in this story. At least, not yet.

     The dogwood blooms later 
this year and marks the tardy rebirth 
of the earth, our home, beautifying 
after a dreadful winter purge.