That grass, moving back and forth, at the end of the world will be the only thing alive.
Not yet. The grass is dancing with the wind.
A petal falls on it, a petal lost, wandering about with the guidance of the wind.
That rose, whose petal just left, is shining with its colors, is looking even more beautiful than before.
The rose doesn’t mind losing a shining petal; it has more.
The peaceful plants and flowers dance together with the wind, not the trees.
The elder of the trees, roaring with its mighty bark, rustles its leaves at the farthest place of its crown.
Little bugs and ladybugs that were once resting on the leaves are now gone.
After the music produced by the wind, a moment of silence arises.
Silence. Melancholy now seems to reign the place.
The rose mourns for the petals it lost, the flowering plants for the bees, and trees for the company of bugs and birds.
The petal, once on the grass, is flown away by the wind; it is now on the asphalt of a street.
Both petal and rose mourn and crave for each other.
A little nest which rested on the old tree became incapable to sustain eggs, it’s destroyed.
Nevertheless, every plant and flower raises their beings high up, where the sun is now purifying all the plants.
The petal forgets about the rose and just flies away with the wind, its new friend.