He was only a child when he entered the forest, tottering from the picnic area into a clump of nearby sagebrush. The sun was low, the scent of pollen strong in the air. The cool, green trees created a dusty canopy over his head. The child pushed onward through the bushes, ignoring the countless tiny scratches on his face, recieved by the outreaching twigs. Soon the brush thickened and the forest grew darker as the overhanging branches blotted out the sky. Occasionally, he would pause in a beam of sunlight filtering through the foliage, warming himself. Hours later, the child came to a meadow, devoid of all trees or bushes. Finding soft spot in the grass, he sat down to rest.
Eventually, the air began to warm and the boy rose, tramping through the dry grass. Back into the brush he went, branches scraping his chest and arms. The cool shade seemed less plentiful than before, with the sun blazing directly overhead. A small cloud of insects swirled behind him, attracted by the sweet odor of his sweat. Dehydrated and exhausted, the boy trudged on; avoiding the interlaced bushes when possible, other times crashing through them. Stopping for a moment, he heard the soft murmur of water. With renewed energy, he pushed through the twisted growth, emerging on a rocky riverbed. A small stream meandered through rounded stones, ground smooth by centuries of winter floods. He waded into the cool water, quenching his thirst and washing the dust off his skin. Lying back, the boy drifted with the current.
Without warning, a strong puff of cool wind blew, sending shivers down his body. The man realized that the water was growing cold and climbed out at the nearest bank. Shaking in the chilly wind, he walked along the riverbed for awhile, attempting to dry his bare skin in the moist air. When he was somewhat dry, the man re-entered the forest, feeling tiny threads of pain as the bushes scraped his legs. The singing birds had quieted down with the approach of the wind and the sinking of the sun. Dry leaves crackled underfoot as he stepped through the soft forest floor, barefoot. Looking into the iron sky, he saw that the air was alive with dancing leaves of orange and gold. The trees seemed bare now, and the dim sunlight cast long, skeletal shadows over the carpet of color beneath his heavy treads. A brisk rain began to fall, then quickly grew stronger, drops of wter hissing as they fell through the bare trees and into the crunchy leaves. The man searched for shelter from this sudden onslaught, finally finding a shallow alcove in a rock to wait out the storm inside.
The sun had sunk below the treeline when the old man emerged from the cave and onto a fresh blanket of fallen snow. The forest had fallen into complete silence, almost as if it were holding its breath in anticipation for some monumental event to occur. The old man struggled through the deep snow, panting with exertion. He walked for some time, using a fallen limb to help himself limp through the snow-laden undergrowth. Eventually, he became aware of a deep, white-noise roar piercing the trees. Following the sound he came upon a wide, icy river. The rushing water slamming against the boulders had created the noise that the old man had heard from deep within the forest. Staring at the waters, swollen from the winter storm, the old man wondered if the river he was standing at was the same as the one he had come across earlier. He began to pace the bank, looking for somewhere to cross. Soon, he found a sandbar spanning the rushing currents, making it shallow enough for him to wade through. Sliping on the icy scum, he stepped into the frigid river, and his breath was instantly sucked from his lungs by the shock of the cold. He made his way across, feeling the numbing water rise above his waist. Near the middle, the old man began to feel the force of the current overcoming him. He leaned forward and strained with all his will, but was powerless against the strength of the tide, which quickly knocked him off his feet. As he was tossed over the rocks by the ruthless water, his head broke the surface, once. He took a deep breath and dissapeared beneath the roiling water.
The dying man washed up on shore miles away, too cold to shiver, his waxen skin slowly oozing dark blood from myriad wounds. Looking at the swirling snowflaked in the azure sky, his hollow chest heaved once, then was still. Soon the sun rose in the sky and the river thinned out. In the rapidly warming air, the snow began to melt away, revealing a thick bed of soft, green grass. Wildflowers rose, showing their beaming faces to the clear sky and trees rustled their emerald leaves in the soft breeze. Soon, the man was no more, becoming one with brother coyote and the lonely vultures. The raging river had become a slow, soft trickle once again, and somewhere, near the ege of the forest, lured by the singing of birds, a small child neared to foliage.