The Wood
There was a forest—a large, neverending forest; a forest full of trees. The forest was green. Not a summer green and not a sea green. The forest was green.
It was a glowing green, like a neon light that kept a constant hum in your ear.
There were no birds. There were no squirrels. There were no foxes, no dogs. There were no horses; there were no insects. There was only the constant hum in your ear.
There was a stream, like a small percussion, chortling with the constant hum in your ear. The stream was blue. Not an icy blue and not a sky blue. The steam was blue.
It was a glowing blue, like a diamond ring sparkling on the finger of earth.
There were no fish. There were no worms. There were no minnow, no crayfish. No snails, there were no snakes. There was only the percussion-like chortling and the constant hum in your ear.
There was a rock—a small silent fleck on the forest floor that blended with the percussion-like chortling and the constant hum in your ear. The rock was gray.
It was a glowing gray, like lightning reflected off a sword blade, sitting on the forest floor.
There were no nicks. There were no scratches. There were no chips, no cracks. No holes, there were no slivers. There was only the glowing silent speck sitting on the forest floor blending with the percussion-like chortling and the constant hum in your ear.
There was a man—a small, naked man in the forest who sang breathlessly with the percussion-like chortling and the constant hum in your ear. The man was old. Not a deathly old and not a shriveled old. The man was old.
He was a glowing old, like a wizard or a god in his golden years of immortality.
There were no books. There were no quills. There were no parchments, no inks. No staves, there were no wands. There was only his breathless singing, staring at the small, silent fleck sitting on the forest floor blending with the percussion-like chortling of the stream and the constant hum in your ear.