A man sat in the middle of a forest, in the middle of a garden, in the middle of a bench. Or was it a man? Perhaps it was a boy. He looked very like a lost little boy sitting in the midst of frozen flowers. Funny thing about the first, unexpected frost. If one looks out the window very early the morning of the first frost, he sees all the last flowers, glazed over. One moment they were alive, happy, blooming—one cold wind, and they are encased in a sheet of glassy ice. You can see the beauty and happiness they once were, yet, with the encasing around them, you can no longer touch that beauty—and you know it is only a short matter of time before they die. It is this way with hearts too; most people do not discover that, however, until it is too late. This man, like so many before him, learned this the hard way. He had taken for granted a heart that belonged to him. And now it was too late. She had her heart encased in an ice he couldn’t safely melt, and he was left in a lonely place that was once filled with warmth and love.
Forest Idylls 