SoledadThe moor was lined with thin, shallow rows of neatly cut pasture. The grass was short and demure, like texture on canvas, almost as if it were deliberately etched into the rolling expense of meadow. Bright, pale light filtered through from the tops of mile-high trees, illuminating splotches of land while leaving others cast in shadow. High up above, a light mist spread conformably over the vast fields, trickling into the forest behind and giving a dusty edge to the sunlight that spilled over acres of great moorland.The tree would have been like any other, if it had not been standing solely in the middle of the moor. It was not a particularly tall tree, nor an exceptionally large one. In fact, it was utterly dwarfed by the looming forest that towered at the rear. But it stood, curiously, alone. Its branches reached upward, lacing and entangling one another in interlocking webs of timber. The ones at the bottom drooped with the weight of thousands of tiny leaves.A dry, harsh wind swept
Through LifeI teeteron the edge of decisions,flit through the jaws of Fate.Delirious with thrill,trigger-happy.Giddy on choices I make.Life—I feel,turns out like a game.Inconsistent, yetpredictable,though somewhat the same.Push your luck,sometimes,with the lightest touch.But never,if you dare,ask for too much.