The leaves whispered restlessly outside his window, disturbing the peacefulness of his slumber, and he propped open an eye with an askance glare for their daring intrusion. The dream had already slipped from his grasp except for the distinct impression that it had been good. The hour was still too early to see the leaves or even the branches they hung from and he closed his eye again with a disappointed sigh. Dawn would not arrive for at least two hours but he had little hope of reclaiming the interrupted dream, “What are you going on about now?”
Though they continued to converse in hushed tones, the trees did not answer. He attempted to push their murmurings and his own curiosity about what had set them astir away by rolling away from the window and throwing an arm over his head. It was futile and he knew it. After a quick count of ten, he rose to a sitting position and turned back toward the window to see if his eyes could perceive anything of value from the darkness beyond.
No wind accompanied the rustling of the branches so either a creature was clambering about the giant oak or the tree was truly talking to its wooden brethren. Either was possible but the level of noise made it more likely that he was eavesdropping on the forest. There was more than one tree in motion.
Finding his feet, he stepped to the window and leaned against the sill. Crisp air greeted him. His eyes continued to adjust but weren’t yet of much use. His ears remained attentive, and with his mind now fully awake, he confirmed it was more than one tree quivering. The sound was haunting and beautiful at the same time.
Just as dawn hinted at its coming arrival by warming the eastern horizon, the conversation came to an abrupt halt. The trees returned to their stoic silence and he was left wondering what was so important the forest had needed to spring into action in the middle of the night. It didn’t take much thought to come to a likely conclusion. “Change,” he spoke to the morning. “Change is coming.”
He had felt a tingling itch in his mind for several days. Something was amiss in his hidden world and soon the cause would reveal itself. Unhurried by the threat, or promise, of the coming days, he stayed at the window to watch the day unfurl. The light stretched from the mountains at the edge of his vision to the tops of the trees that had pulled him from his slumber. The sky spoke its own salutations in vibrant blue hues. He sighed with contentment at the wonder of it all.
A question from Matticus: Having recently published The Erratic Sun, I was feeling some pressure (though that isn’t quite the right word) to write something new… something of my own to publish. I sat down and this came out. What do you think? Is it done, as is? Or, is this just the start that I should turn into a full novel and publish?