So much water has flowed under the bridge.
The bridge, through much disuse and lack of care, has decayed, splintered and fallen into the flowing water, which takes it to lands unknown. The slices bear no semblance to the might it once was, in its past life across the wide span of the river.
The water continues its journey, frothing with an unhealthy, sick hue, unkind to the shores it touches.
The grass that was once green has become dry and crumbled; the land parched, despite the presence of water so close by. Trees have uprooted themselves, collapsing on their side with a sigh.
The wind, the idle wind, that seeks to blow no more, appears for the last time, finds none to encounter, and retires hurt.
There is no Hope… anywhere.
The World is still.
A tiny sprout breaks the solid ground and peeps up carefully at the sky.
The World catches its breath, and after a moment’s disbelief, turns around – to look at the precious little piece of innocence.
The water, frothing no longer, sweeps close to it with a Motherly tenderness, and gently wets the ground.
The breeze picks up the movement, looks around, and catching sight of the new Life, blows ever so lightly, taking care not to hurt the tiny leaves just learning to break open.
A soft pulse of excitement and anticipation resonates through the Land.
Hope. Was Reborn.