In the Mist

The swirling mist flew swiftly through the chilly air and settled around a bare lonely tree. The trees branches were only just visible in the morning gloom. The dark branches on the tree were tangled and ragged, they swayed slightly in the gentle breeze. The pea green grass surrounding the tree was sparkling with crystal coloured frost, making everything have a magical feel to it. You could hear nothing. Not even the slightest noise or a bird. The whole place was coated in silence.

A swing was hanging dejectedly on the trees worn branches. It had been sitting in the silence, hanging on the trees for centuries. For the first time in many years the silence was broken as a young girl crunched on the frost. The delicately formed dewdrops burst as she gently stood on them. She sat on the dusty swing and thought. The only noise for miles was the sound of the old rusty swing ropes creaking gently as the swing moved. Goosebumps prickled the girl’s skin. She was afraid of the deathly silence and ghostly whispers. She ran.

The wind whistled in her ears and she was gone. The tree in the paddock had banished its intruder, leaving it coated in silence once again.

By Georgia