[ WP ] The trees are whispering

They sit in a line, dozens of cars stretched from the edge of the woods well into the heart of the city. The line goes both ways, moving so slowly that it would seem to not move at all. Moss forms within the cracks of the asphalt as a deer casually walks through the line of automobiles. The timid creature shows no apprehension towards the human constructs as they are empty. Abandoned. Their drivers are no where in sight, nor do they still exist. Long since perished to some plight that history has forgotten. No meaningful records left in the wake of this monumental event. No one left to read them if they had been written. The scribblings of a dead man, his hand now returned to dust. Dust that, picked up by a breeze that slips through the broken window of his decrepit house, comes to rest upon the rotting pages. 
 
 Termites and ants work quickly to stake their claim over the relinquished territories as their predators scrape and scratch the surface for their burgeoning meal. The wilds run rampant on the remains of our civilization, building upon the ruins in their own way to make the best of what we've left behind. A few unfortunate creatures meet their end in startling collapses of weather-beaten architecture as it gives to stress and disrepair. While the fauna take what they can quickly, the flora choose to creep by slowly. Still bearing scars, many that have forever altered their course, they seem reluctant to take back what was theirs. Deep in the green leaves and colorful blooms, a stir arises. A mournful, sweet melody played by the wood's kin, those that know its plight all too well. The song soon grows in volume, introducing new verses of hope as it swells toward future iterations. Meanwhile, the trees are whispering. 
 
 “ Free at last, ” they seem to say. 
 
 -235
