Rain

With the moon above me...

I'm at home. The trees around my house are bare for the most part but some, the smaller ones, are starting to bud. It has been raining heavily but our house on the hill is safe from any flash flooding. The rolling forest is old and barren, many of the trees will not bud, and some even still have dead leaves from the previous autum. I wander into the woods and find a great plateau. All the trees are dead here. My hands are hammers and I beat them to the ground. Sometimes the trunks shatter like champaign flutes, others snap like broken bones before toppling to the forest floor and dissolving. The forest cleans up faster than I can wreck it. The plateau no longer has any trees. They have all been dissolved and reformed as man-high mounds, laid out in a perfect grid. The rains come again and drench the land. I turn away from the feild of gravestones to answer my fathers question. I turn back and behemoths greet me. A rain forest with perfect rows and coloumes lay before me. An indescribalbe joy fills me. I'm the father to this merical of life. I helped create this utopia. I destroyed the old to make way for the new. Waves of accomplishment lull me into a deep sleep. I'm finally happy.