A Forest Trail

The sun filtered gently through the tall trees, tinting the light a soft green. The air was warm, and a light breeze made it's way among the trees. The leaves, now in the full glory of summer, whispered their greeting as it went by.

It seemed as if time had stopped in the old forest. The only moving things were the graceful butterfies flitting in and out of th shafts of pure sunlight that were spot-lighting the undergrowth.Sometimes the spears of light landed on the tree trunks, illuminating the moss that had grown there for years.

A small, well worn path wound through the forest and on out of sight. Instead of an intrusion, the path seemed more an old friend . One who had come to visit and had not as yet left.

Up near the bend in the trail there was a rotted tree, whose prime years had passed long ago. The tree still stood however, providing a home for the birds. Even now they flitted in and out, going about their work with a song on their hearts, and on their toungues. It was not only the residents of the rotted tree who were joyful though. In all the forest it seemed there was not a bird that was silent.

Directly past the bend in the trailsomeone had built a bridge. It was not a very large bridge, but it fit perfectly into it's surroundings. I was curved into a small arch, with handrails on either side. Someone had once painted it red, but the paint was now faded and chipping. The bridge itself, however, was in good repair. A woodcutter often used it, and not a nail was out of place.

Underneath the bridge, and in fact the very reason for it's existencem ran a small stream. It's clear water gurgled along, tumbling over the smooth, moss-covered rocks.