All things strive

A man made of briar and thorn, leaf and flower with eyes of oak, holds the turning world in the palm of his hand. A vivid emerald jewel turning gently in the palm of the wizened giant. An expression of great enduring sorrow creasing his ancient visage.

Leaves and petals the size of continents fall from the giants sides, drifting gently down through space.

The giants head turns slowly to face me, oaken eyes look into mine. Everything blurs, colours fading into themselves, everything goes dark.

My eyes open, shattered towers claw at the sky around me. The careful order we built together lying ruined. To the west the sun sets, throwing shadows across deserted streets. A cool wind whistles through the shattered city, carrying with it the cold smell of decay through torn and broken skyscrapers, around the rusting wrecks of cars, blowing gently against my face and through my hair, bringing with it the smells of the dead city, and something else... New life.

I look down, between the cracks in the concrete, a plant clings to life. Vivid green against the surrounding shades brown and grey, doomed to die like all things, it still strives...

I bend down, brush my hand against the fragile plant, I whisper to it.

"I understand."