Forest

Small, blinking lights, making lazy circles in the air, the fireflies illuminating the pond below, like so many stars in the pitch black night time sky. The air smelled cool, and of dew and pine, of earthy freshness. The grass sighed slowly in the wind, each stalk dancing, as if in synchronicity with the others. The air felt moist and tasted of contentment and joy.

Owls were hooting from their perches on the trees, eyes unblinking, yellow, staring at the bright lights, yellow eyes hungry. Squirrels snuggling inside, curling up, next to their treasure trove of acorns. Occasionally, a deer would bounce into the clearing for some cool water, then just as quickly, dart back into the darkness of the night, the thickness of the forest.

Infrequent rustling and thuds as the pines fell from their lofty positions in the sky, through leaves and branches and onto dry twigs.

The forest was asleep, sound and peaceful, a hum as the breaths of the creatures, in and out, in and out. Outside were a couple of bulldozers and a mound of mud, ready to tear down the trees, and fill the pond with land. Tonight, the forest slept, unaware.