A harsh cold settles atop the pine trees in a foggy haze. Light is scarce, and I strain my eyes to see the frozen scenery. The ground hard like concrete, the dark surroundings - all began to turn a magnificent orange. High chirps break the silence as the breeze tickles the branches. Still, there are no signs of life other than these innocent whines.

As the Earth turns, the orange becomes muddled in a confusion of clouds. A deep scent of rain floods the air. In the distance, lights from houses’ windows pour out onto the street. The slight breeze breaks into a sprint, shaking all in sight. The chirps become panicked shrieks. The cries echo out into the nothingness. I, alone, witness their plea. Serving no purpose, the cries still persist, as if to alleviate the situation.

The breath of Mother Nature flings all debris in sight. Pinecones and bunches of needles are hurled at the hard world in a large thud. Just as the storm, the cries show no intention of waning. Instead, they become desperate as time slowly moves. Like piercing needles, they wake their surroundings. Although the world wakes, none come to the cries’ aid. They retreat from the sounds, as if they were battle cries.

The wind becomes stronger and siphons bullets of hail. I, from my perch on my covered porch, am unmoving. Screeches of anguish plead for assistance, but the world is frozen in its tracks. There were no longer any reinforcements to give, for they have all fled for cover. The cries alone persist in the storm. They continue, reaching out for a savior that would never come, until the next day.