Free Meadows, Continued

...

I knew this clearing was not safe anymore. I gritted my teeth against the stiffness and lurched to my feet. Looking around I saw nothing but darkness. But I heard a chirp nearby. It sounded like that of a goldfinch. Using my ear I made my way towards the bird. It didn't move when I approached. I offered my finger, which had swollen from the splinter, to the bird. I felt it perch itself on the finger in the darkness and I stood there a moment, enjoying its company. It was a lovely bird and would not leave.

...

Before I knew it was dawn. The bird had kept me company during the night - I must have fallen asleep in its company. The sun pierced through the canopy of the trees overhead and I grimaced in pain. It felt like a long time since I had last seen the sun, and the light agitated my senses. I had grown accustomed to the darkness.

The goldfinch encouraged me, though. From its perch on a nearby log it stared at me and chirped. I returned the look for a moment and looked away. After a short time its chirping roused me and I forced myself up. My pain in my finger had faded and left my mind. Instead I gazed at the golf finch in admiration.

Why did this bird remain through the night? It must have a nest to fly to or some food to scavenge. It's a mystery, I thought, why the bird is still here. I have nothing to offer it besides appreciation. Perhaps it thought I would protect it from predators. Whatever the bird wanted, I was happy to fulfill. It had kept me company through the night.

With the bird perched again on my wounded finger we left the clearing and entered the thick foliage. The branches grabbed at me and roots tripped me, but I always recovered. Chirping softly after I almost fell, the goldfinch remained with me through all this bumble. I appreciated its persistence. Still I wondered why it remained. The thought could not let me focus on the path ahead.

Because of the distraction I almost fell into the brook in front of me. That was enough for the bird as it took off into the trees. I was dazed at the sudden appearance of the water and the sudden departure of the bird. Neither made sense to me. I had no reason to delay, though. One almost never sees the same bird twice unless he owns a bird-feeder. I knelt at the brook and cupped my hand into the cold water. Reluctantly I sipped from it, and tried to enjoy the brackish taste. It was all I had.

First Snow

It snowed today. It came fitfully and in a rage; it did not even want to come. It hid behind the rain for most of the day, and sulked in the clouds. But then it realized the inevitability of its fate. "Why," it thought, "should I stay up here? I am only going to fall anyways. At least on the ground I can rest." And so the snow spittled from the sky onto the ground, wind howling. There it melted and died.

The people begin to bundle up against the cold, against the snow. And they persevered over the conquered snow. Melted at their feet, the snow was dead. Soon, though, more would come. And the collective might of the powder would take its toll. The people will freeze in the cold.

And so the snow, defeated at first, conquers.
And the people, initially victorious, submit.

But what of the dead snow of the First Snow?
What of the fallen comrades of ice?

They are forgotten. They did not conquer.
- well then!