Branches twisted together, entwined, stretching far, the sturdy wood’s rough bark a chestnut brown colour from the bright sky above, the shimmering sun’s light shining on it. The trees’ sun kissed, lush leaves fill the branches, a deep green colour. The vast branches stretched, and they left shadows on the hills of rolling green below. Amethyst and emerald green bushes beneath the three trees had miniscule multi-coloured lights, which looked like they were moving, as if they were tiny glowing insects. Particles of light floated through the air; petals too drifting through the breezy countryside air. Dew drops from the rain of the previous night were on the blades of grass, covering the grassy floor. Birds twittered quietly, while sheep leaped playfully, and the distant sounds of animals in the distance reached my ears. Trees stretched far into the sky, as if they were reaching for the stars, their shining bright lights twinkling and dancing joyfully in the bright sky, as if they were alive. But even higher than the trees of this ancient forest, were the three huge oak trees that stood together atop a large hill, their great height reflecting their humongous age. I can smell the freshly cut summer straw in the field and the fragrant scent of strawberries drifting through the air towards my nose. Summer is always so glorious here; the rolling hills and the balmy air give a sense of carefreeness. It denotes a calm and peaceful ambiance, with clear blue skies and idyllic grass hills. The sweet-smelling grass beneath my bare feet is slightly wet, giving a relaxing effect as I stroll towards the three tallest trees. I sit down at the trunk of one of them and look out to the hills in front of me. My eyes flutter to a close as the sky turns dark.  

When my eyes open, I am not greeted by the balmy summer air, but by a gentle breeze dancing around me, tickling my senses. Surrounded by piles of veined leaves - warm brown and orange colours - I glance around me. Grass, once a bright green, is now more muted, the breezy autumn climate clearly affecting the bushes around me. Branches above me are almost completely bare, spare a few orange leaves, clearly revealing the birds’ nests perched atop them, only a singular bird twittering inside them. I stand up, sending the leaves on me fluttering to the floor, and stretch. Autumn is one of my favourites here, the orange, red and brown everywhere, piles of dead leaves to jump in, and multi-coloured leaves falling from the trees. It gets colder and darker - there has been a chill in the air over night, and now, in the morning, there is frost on the ground. There are little to no clouds veiling the sky, and its blue hue appears purer, and the sky itself feels more open, vaster somehow. Scuttling across the leaves, I notice there is a young, spiked hedgehog, using his dainty nose to sniff out slugs to eat. He seems so unfazed by me, the large creature looming above him, perhaps he knows by some strange intuition that I am no harm to him. Gobbling a newly found slug, he glares up at me, his small black eyes twinkling, and then disappears into the shrubbery. A few seconds later I hear the unmistakable noise of a fox’s cry extremely close by, but it is too late, my spiky friend does not emerge from the bushes, and I am certain I know the cause of it. Autumn is considered to be the time of death, and I completely agree with that, however it is beautiful in its own way. Despite the slow descent towards a seeming death, there is still much life in the old year yet. Before they all drop from the trees, leaves turn dazzling colours of ambers, reds and yellows creating stunning views like the one before me. I return to my seat next to the trees, once again closing my eyes and bracing myself for the frigid air I know is to come.  

Just as I suspected, before even opening my eyes I can feel the icy wind. A wasteland of ice lies before me, the snowy whiteness stretching across the hills, somehow making me feel even smaller. The snowy winter landscape reveals a range of icy colours, from crystal-white hills and fields to creamy yellow sunlight on snow to the light blue purple of shadows or the silvery blue grey of tiny brooks. The tans, browns, and forest greens stand out against a white backdrop. On the horizon, these colours make a winter blue sky even more tingly and brilliant, or at other times serene. I shiver, as I glance around, willing myself to stand up, my bare feet freezing as I take a step forward. Winter always feels so beautiful yet terrifying – I cannot see a single creature, I know they are hibernating, but the empty landscape feels so melancholy, a gentle hush cloaking the land. The once green shrubs are now bare, their scrumptious fruits gone. Drifting through the air, the smell of the crisp pines reaches my nose, its freshness comforting. It seems like the bony trees shiver too, their long tendrils with icicles hanging down, beauty rendered in clear white with long, slender shadows and sculptured shapes. The snow between my bare feet is freezing - icy and so cold it feels like my feet are being pierced by a thousand miny daggers. The weak sun now setting, I know the landscape will soon be bathed in pitch black, leaving me with no warmth from the sun. I try to walk, but find myself on the frozen floor, my body too numb to feel the cold now. Curling myself into a ball, I try to keep as much of my body heat with me as possible. A voice in the back of my head tells me that it is hopeless, and I know it is true. Light drains from around me, the darkness creeping towards me, its tendrils ready to engulf me.  

Light. I can see light. My subconsciousness stumbles towards it, willing myself to open my eyes. I lift my head, and I realize I am no longer in the barren icy wasteland, but surrounded by emerald-green grass, its blades tickling my senses. Sitting up, I look around me. Clouds shaped like tufty pillows glide slowly across the sky, they carry an airy, warm, drizzling rain with them. It cleanses the land and banishes the strangling coldness and stunned silence of winter. Plinking and pattering off the leaves, then fading into memory, the rain energizes the flora. It leaves behind a world baptized and rebirthed by its liquid grace. Flowers of all colours lined the countryside, their delicate petals waving to me in the warm breezy air. In a distant meadow, sheep playfully jump around, their new-borns the most energetic, woolly coats like fluffy clouds. The scent of dandelions reaches my nose, teasing me, begging me to follow the glorious aroma. Looking up, a cherry blossom falls onto my face from the trees above me, the flowers painted onto the branches, the baby pink juxtaposing the bright green of the leaves. The sky above me stretches far into the horizon, its elegant shade of blue clear beneath the clouds. Hope floods through me, Spring, the season of life, where the winter is chased away by the rays of light that is Spring. A time of rebirth as the natural world wakes up and revives after going dormant in the winter months – our days begin to grow longer, flowers begin to bloom, and warmer weather like this allows us to spend more time enjoying the outdoors. Smiling at the world around me, I resume my seat by the trunks of the tree oak trees. They seem so comforting, their branches like gentle hands reaching towards me, ready to rock me to sleep. My eyes flutter close.