β gentle breeze
A gentle breeze drifts through the air darting through thin branches, rustling amber leaves hanging on by a thread.
Bare branches wave down to piles of rotting plants and fragile leaves, the ancient tree standing tall amicably. Their gallant structure stands strong against the harsh weather, ever watching repetitive change to the world around them.
The hazy sky is dreary with colourless clouds hiding the sun, enveloping the shrouded world above. Below lies the obstructive and begrimed roots, protruding from the muddy ground and inhaling cold autumnal air.
The gentle breeze glides towards the towering tree I desperately cling on to, the looming threat of being snatched away with it ominous.
The gentle breeze brushes past me, knocking me off my course and sending me into an oscillating path downwards towards other leaves that have suffered the same unchanging fate time and time again. I descend leisurely, brushing up against the hard bark of the tree I once clung on to. The bark is damp, mossy fungi growing up from the trunk of this ancient tree, clutching at anything to avoid being pulled away.
Other leaves gently decline to the muddy ground, accepting the end of their short life. I attempt to ascend to the branches I used to grasp at, sharp movements upwards towards peaceful refuge.
Another breeze drifts past me, pushing me downwards towards a unsavoury fate. I move from side to side, delicately being laid to rest atop of the ground that had been made besmirched with long fallen leaves.
