The Man and the Dead Maple Leaning on the Cabin in the Cold Winter
Winter came, bringing with it a cold breath that covered the space. On the top of the high hill, where the white snowflakes fell thickly like a cotton blanket covering the ground, there was an old maple tree that had died long ago. The maple tree was no longer green, nor did it have the rustling sound of the wind through the leaves. The tree trunk was skinny and gaunt, its bare branches and leaves like arms reaching up to the sky, leaning against the old cabin roof.
The small cabin lay quietly in the middle of the forest, covered on all sides with white snow. The wooden walls were discolored, the tiled roof was covered with a thick layer of ice, as if the house had fallen asleep in the cold winter. Inside the cabin, the fire from the fireplace emitted a warm, weak light as if trying to resist the bone-chilling cold that surrounded it outside. The man sat there, silently by the fire. His face was deeply wrinkled by time and the harshness of life. His eyes looked out the small window, where the old maple tree still leaned like a close friend, silently protecting the small house.
He remembered the days when the maple tree was still alive, its lush foliage shading the entire yard. In autumn, the leaves turned bright yellow like a blazing fire between heaven and earth. At that time, the children in the village often gathered to play under the tree, their laughter echoing throughout the forest. As for him, with an axe and calloused hands, he diligently collected firewood to bring back to the cabin to warm up through the winter. But then time passed, the old maple tree gradually weakened and withered after a big snowstorm. From then on, it stood leaning like a lonely monument in the middle of the vast nature.
Outside, the wind howled in gusts, carrying with it white snowflakes. The man gently pulled the blanket over his shoulders, feeling the remaining warmth of the fire. He sighed, a breath thick with the smell of wood smoke, then turned to look at the maple tree. Even though it was dead, the maple tree was still there, leaning as if it was bowing to the cabin roof and its old friend. Could it be that in death, the tree still retained a bit of the warmth of its loyalty, not leaving the place where it had been attached for so many years?
This winter was colder than the previous winters. The ice seemed to want to swallow everything, but the friendship between the man and the maple tree still existed silently, without words. They were the same, lonely but resilient. The man and the dead maple tree were two old creatures in an ever-changing world. Winter may be long, but they were still there, quietly accompanying, befriending time and silence.
The snow still fell. The wind still blew. And on the high hill, the old maple tree still leaned on the cabin roof as a message of friendship and perseverance in the cold winter.