The fog lay thick as the sun rose. A figure of an old man appeared in the field. He wasn't clear in the mist though. but his hat and nose could be seen. He approached and his face was visible. Well, a face it hardly was. To marvel at the man was impossible. He'd suffered too great a loss. His walking stick hit the ground repeatedly. His goal were an empty bench by the lake. His eyes where dull and misleadingly. He could barely stay awake. At last he reached his goal. The old figure slowly sat down. Rested his tired soul. The eyes started flicking around.Memories made him wake.They watched as the leaves fell from the trees. The pictures in his head made him shiver and shake. She'd always been his dancing leaf. So full of joy and wonder. Now he was lonely and full of grief. His world was filled with thunder. He sighed and looked back in time. He saw her picking flowers. Her hair was scented with oranges and lime. Her hand clenched around a clover. The old hands were closed around a fragile object. He refused to admit it was over. All his life was now wreched. Unable to controll the tears. He wished himself back to a different place. He couldn't alone face his fears. He wish he could see her face. Push her out of the way. Wish he was there to protect her. This was his only pray. This was a nightmare he could not concur. He slowly closed his eyes. Breathed in the fall. His face looked peacefull and wise. Did not look troubled at all. The color dissapeared from his face. His hands fell down. The object swayed and fell out of place. It slowly touched the ground. In the autumn sun a sight was to be seen. A peacefull man resting for ever more. the clover lay on the ground so perfect and green. The man was now free, free from his long lasting war.