Breeze. Long, cold, biting. Stones covered with ice build the high mountains surrounding the valley. A lonely pair of trees is in the middle. The setting sun licks its last rays on the dying branches. Few see the decay of the living orgasms. Stiffened by the frost they can barely move. No birds visit to sing to it, no worms crawl around its feet, nothing sits by the side and gazes upon the world. No one leans on the cold rocks. No one let their heads fall back and has their vision framed by the mountains high around them. Not a soul slides their hand along the dying trees’ spine. The pair is all alone in the valley of frost. The sun has given up on it. Moving forward, to the all mighty mountains raging high in the sky. Cold, blue snow drips along its sides. Drops form rivers, rivers form a flood and the majestic rock loses its decoration. Leading to the shadow side, the melted snow finds the pair of trees. Circling around in a teasing manner it finally has to fall to its roots and blend with the rocks. In desperation the trees grasp the drops and sucks them deep into their veins. A quick meeting between the sun and his brother seals the valley. The winds cluster and smoothly swings around the mountain feet, breeze through the branches of the trees, freeze the melted water on the stones. Night has come and all things freeze, the trees a little livelier than the day before.
(Inspired by this cover)