The interior was silent and still, all lay calm. The air was damp and rank with decay. A thick layer of dust created a dense blanket that shrouded everything, suffocating all beneath. Furniture from long ago casted grand, spectacular shadows of their former selves
The garden was no better, for it to, lay silent; void of life, nothing remained. Plants lay dead, their souls choked from them by the vicious vines that lurked. A single withered rose sprouted from the huddle of vines, trying, just trying to grasp the light that it desperately craved; but there was no hope for the wind was too strong, the rose that had bound it’s life to the wasteland of death was no more. Every last drop of being squeezed from it. No-one loved that house, no-one. Nobody cared for it anymore, it had been forgotten. Or had it? Did someone love it? Did someone care?
The man stood, looking out over the valley, never moving, never flinching, waiting for morning to come. The Sun was slowly rising above the peaks of the mighty mountains in the picturesque distance. It’s light slowly fighting back against the darkness that once masked the land, replenishing the verdant fields and lush trees with it’s precious light. It had been a harsh winter, a dark winter, one that did not wax or wane. The Sun was fully risen now, the sky filled with a glorious light, darkness was no more.
Life was slowly returning to the valley. Squirrels and other woodland animals began to emerge from their homes, bringing with them hope. Tree’s began to shed the snow that had encased their branches for so long, exposing them to the now untamable light that they had craved and sought after. The icicles that had clutched them, was melting...melting, the trees were free, free from the burden that had heavily encumbered them. As the remainder of the snow was almost gone, a small bud that had hungered for light, heaved itself from beneath the snow, overpowering it’s now weak foe. Slowly, the ice that suffocated the lake began to splinter, water seeped through the cracks eradicating the last of the ice. Fish could be seen again; swimming, almost dancing, at the joy of the sight. Birds, of many different species, from all around filled the sapphire sky with their song; it was a song of hope, a song of joy and life; but mot of all it was a song of victory of the cruel, unforgiving winter. But was it all over? Was the battle won? Or was there more to come?
