Ben - Chapter Thirty

As snowflakes dress underfoot like summer petals, they caress each whitened hair under the foot of an intrepid and dedicated rabbit. Dedicated feet. Dedicated stories and memories. Dedicated to hard graft and carved from solid stone.

A large and shiny eye with a large pupil. Old and wary but all knowing. To have survived this long is nothing short of an intervention. Perhaps from those cackling bears towering above. They do after all, have some sense of humor despite their staggering size and spitting bellies.

The grass has not turned yet and sits surprisingly in its summer suit. The snow has not yet snuffed it out to a defeated brown. This still makes for a plentiful meal, even if the worms are hiding far too under the frosty top layers.

A waterfall frozen stands impatient and immobile, frustrates at the confused woodpecker who tried to make it a home without success. Worms cannot swim in waterfalls, but this daft woodheadsmasher would not know this, even if they cannot tell a tree from a water tree.

Ben could use this to his advantage to vault himself up and see the sun again. Also seen and heard aside from a gentle wind, the sum total of life in the great expanse is trees. At this time, nothing but absorbed sounds and snow crunch. Perhaps a lucky ice beetle. They usually consume berries and sleep off a hangover without so much as a snore. Silence and stillness to boot. Silence.