Red and Blue
In spring the small leaves slowly unfurl and grow, and soon the trees have created a light green roof with gentle rays of sun darting through, warming the soil. The delicate plants underneath thrive in the tree roof’s shade. When the rain comes and falls for days, the drops first sit on the leaves, then slowly make their way onto and through the soil. The water is eagerly sucked up by roots and new shoots come up everywhere. More shades of green, more kinds of trees, many different shapes of leaves: chestnut, maple, oak, rowan, willow. Small flowers bloom underneath the trees, white, purple, yellow. During the day it’s warm but during the night, a cool breeze allows all to rest and regain strength to grow some more the next day.
It’s then that she decides to interfere.
Now the sun burns down every day and during the night there is no respite, it remains hot and humid. The leaves begin to curl, discolor, and fall down, the grass turns brown, the mushrooms shrivel up. The earth is no longer dark, moist and fertile, but more like sand or dust. But she is relentless. She waits until the twigs and branches become brittle and then she strikes or rather makes an unthinking human strike a match and let it fall. On the parched forest floor. The small flame flickers, threatens to go out but quickly finds a small twig to feed on. One, and then another, and another bigger one. The fire crackles as if laughing as it eagerly consumes more twigs and branches, as it feeds into the first tree, lights up the next. The wood creaks, then breaks. Soon the forest is ablaze and the flames move forward with speed and insatiable greed, they are not to be cowed by firemen and water, but find a way to everything they can feed on.
The sky is black with smoke, the heat emanating from the flames unbearable. The deer, the foxes, the badgers, the wild boars, they all come running, looking for shelter, their desperate cries would melt anyone’s heart, but not hers. The next day the Fury looks with satisfaction on the destruction she has caused: the black earth, the grey ash that has settled on the dead trunks and remnants of broken off branches with whiffs of smoke still trailing from them. The forest and all its life are gone.
The door rattles, then flies open and an icy wind blows in. An arctic cold begins to seep into the room. If you are lucky and have a warm coat to wrap yourself in, you stand a chance. You can try to find a place to hide, a table to duck under, a door to hide behind, a wall to melt into. Then you can watch the wild dance of the snowflakes as they are blown into the room in relative safety, you can watch as they slowly settle on the ground, on the furniture, on people’s hair and faces, on their shoulders, their arms and legs.
The snow lion is heard before he is seen. He is roaring as he moves in. Standing in the door, his grey eyes scan the room and glide over the frozen figures around him. Then he shakes his light blue mane and small flakes are tossed through the air. When he breathes out, a fleeting, misty cloud escapes from his nostrils. His thick sapphire blue fur glows with health. Only the most naïve will dare to respond to his roar. Any reply is a reason to pounce. His huge paws will play a savage teasing game. Then he will stop and it will be so quiet, your heartbeat is the only thing you can hear. Just when you think the snow storm is over and are about to move, there’ll be a swift bite to a neck. You will stare at the lifeless body and not feel anything, not even relief, it wasn’t you.
When the snow lion has left the room, the temperature rises instantly, the snow not only melts but evaporates and everybody seems to move at the same time. The remains of the latest incident are quickly taken away, and the room will soon look exactly the same as before, but from now on you will take your coat everywhere, even to the Sahara.
It’s then that she decides to interfere.
Now the sun burns down every day and during the night there is no respite, it remains hot and humid. The leaves begin to curl, discolor, and fall down, the grass turns brown, the mushrooms shrivel up. The earth is no longer dark, moist and fertile, but more like sand or dust. But she is relentless. She waits until the twigs and branches become brittle and then she strikes or rather makes an unthinking human strike a match and let it fall. On the parched forest floor. The small flame flickers, threatens to go out but quickly finds a small twig to feed on. One, and then another, and another bigger one. The fire crackles as if laughing as it eagerly consumes more twigs and branches, as it feeds into the first tree, lights up the next. The wood creaks, then breaks. Soon the forest is ablaze and the flames move forward with speed and insatiable greed, they are not to be cowed by firemen and water, but find a way to everything they can feed on.
The sky is black with smoke, the heat emanating from the flames unbearable. The deer, the foxes, the badgers, the wild boars, they all come running, looking for shelter, their desperate cries would melt anyone’s heart, but not hers. The next day the Fury looks with satisfaction on the destruction she has caused: the black earth, the grey ash that has settled on the dead trunks and remnants of broken off branches with whiffs of smoke still trailing from them. The forest and all its life are gone.
The door rattles, then flies open and an icy wind blows in. An arctic cold begins to seep into the room. If you are lucky and have a warm coat to wrap yourself in, you stand a chance. You can try to find a place to hide, a table to duck under, a door to hide behind, a wall to melt into. Then you can watch the wild dance of the snowflakes as they are blown into the room in relative safety, you can watch as they slowly settle on the ground, on the furniture, on people’s hair and faces, on their shoulders, their arms and legs.
The snow lion is heard before he is seen. He is roaring as he moves in. Standing in the door, his grey eyes scan the room and glide over the frozen figures around him. Then he shakes his light blue mane and small flakes are tossed through the air. When he breathes out, a fleeting, misty cloud escapes from his nostrils. His thick sapphire blue fur glows with health. Only the most naïve will dare to respond to his roar. Any reply is a reason to pounce. His huge paws will play a savage teasing game. Then he will stop and it will be so quiet, your heartbeat is the only thing you can hear. Just when you think the snow storm is over and are about to move, there’ll be a swift bite to a neck. You will stare at the lifeless body and not feel anything, not even relief, it wasn’t you.
When the snow lion has left the room, the temperature rises instantly, the snow not only melts but evaporates and everybody seems to move at the same time. The remains of the latest incident are quickly taken away, and the room will soon look exactly the same as before, but from now on you will take your coat everywhere, even to the Sahara.