I look at the trees.
The snow covering them.
And I can’t help but think that this is the passing of time.
Every year I see the same picture.
Trees covered with snow.
And at the end of every winter, I see how the warm rays of the spring sun melt the snow and I watch it falling from the branches down to the ground.
Year after year this happens.
With every season I change.
I’m never the same person I was last winter when I watched the trees.
And I wonder if this is how it’s supposed to be.
I grow older.
But the world stays the same.
For those who come after me to see.
My children will watch the trees and see the same thing I did.
Long after I’m gone.
And I hope they will.
Because watching the passing of time is a beautiful thing.
Something I wish my children will have to pleasure to watch.
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Categories: flash fiction