Little Scribble

The trees are sparse, punctuating the land here and there, never in more than groups of five. Their branches are still full of autumn leaves, now covered in ice; the storm came early. The ground crunches under your weight, the snow covering the fallen leaves thickly. The sky is overcast; occasionally the sun's rays burst through, reflecting off the snow and clouds and causing the landscape to blind you in endless white light which never quite warms you like you need. Underneath one particularly alluring tree, you see an shape, just an odd corner of stone poking out from beneath it's snowy blanket. Curious, you wander over and start to uncover it; revealing a gravestone, inscription so faded you cannot read it by the blinding glare of the endless light, the light that is so showy but without the real substance of warmth. You realize you're becoming more and more numb the longer you stay, but can't find it in your heart to leave. Indeed, this place lives in your heart, is your spirit's landscape; it is where your mind lives whilst in the throes of your depression. You have not figured out all the symbolism within this place, but you know the snow has been your attempt to bury all the pain, and when the cold became a pain of it's own you tried to bring in sunlight to warm your heart. But you still want the snow to numb the pain, so the sunlight never melts away the ice, only serves to blind you from discovering what you buried in this mental graveyard. You know this place stretches to infinity, as there is endless snow, but you are only able to see this one little grave with its birch guardian for now.