A light, rain like fog hung in the distance, covering the omnipresent hills which rose and fell like giant waves off the ocean. The evergreens peaked through the misty veil, grey silhouettes clothed in mystery. The signs of Fall had come and brought in the chill of Winter. Everywhere I turned I saw the wet mulch of leaves and the barren branches which had shed them.
These are symbols of death to some: The earth dies in Winter. The earth only sleeps. I am on this road for miles more, it seems, before I too find the promised rest of winter, yet I see in the distance those faithful firs—though it is through a veil, I spy the hope of Heaven.
Tale Told 