The Day the Evergreens Faded

The day not so long ago had passed with the unrelenting sun overhead. The air would have drained the vitality of the most ripe, moist tomato in the blink of a heavily weighted eye. It was then, as I stared from the grimy window to the brittle wood of the steadfast forest. It was then, as I thought, not as I had intended for the vulgar comings and goings of the everyday, but the most somber of thoughts crossed my mind. For some time, I had suppressed the irrevocable notion that constantly battled to emerge above the surface. It was then. It was then that the realization came to me, as strong and tempestuous as Mother Nature's most furious bouts of vengeance. As I sat and I thought, I suddenly knew that the informality of the everyday did not suit me as it once did. As the crisp, spiteful sun trudged across the sky on the day so dry as to preserve any manner of meats in a moment, I knew that I had lost my most crucial, irreplaceable notion. I had lost my life. It was then, as I thought before the dusty golden window, that the evergreens began to fade to brown.