With the birds gone from their nests and the leaves gone from their boughs, the sycamores were finally alone.
For a long time, they stood together simply enjoying the silence. They watched as winter settled in, quieting the stream, blanketing the hills with her snow. They napped beneath her deep clouds and dreamed beneath her glittery stars.
But now they were well rested and wide awake.
They chatted about the subtly lengthening days and delighted in seeing the first V of geese flying northward. Deep beneath the frozen soil, they felt the delicate stirring of their roots.
“Tonight is a new moon, my love,” one whispered to the other. They knew, from their ancient memories that only one more would come before springtime arrived. “The stars will hang bright and low.”
“Ah, yes,” the other smiled. “What do you say? Shall we dance?”