Girl From The Bay: Weep

She sat, slumped like a ragdoll against the base of a tall tree in the snowy Spring forest. Her wavy brown hair hung in long, damp clumps from under her beige stocking hat with the big tassle on top. It was a gift her Mother had knitted and given her for Christmas along with the matching gloves that now were also getting damp as her hands laid on the melting snow, palms up. Row upon row of trees were silent, each studiously holding a silver bucket that hung under a tap.

There was not a sound in the clear early morning air. The birds were waking, sleepily shaking melting frost off their feathers, preening and preparing to take flight and make song for the day. As the sunlight began to filter through the treetops, shining down on the girl in long golden beams, one thing became clear. There was no light in her staring eyes. A final vacant look of desperation and disbelief were frozen on her face for all eternity. In the distance a bloodhound began to bark excitedly – it had found her trail. Now in the silver buckets, the sound of sparkling droplets of sap hitting bottom could be heard. The trees had begun to weep.