Falling snow, inside the globe.
Flocks of black starlings swoop and dive in swirling patterns of aerial choreography en masse. Bright red cardinals ignite with color against the snowy ground, searching for seeds.
The tree stands at the center of the winter field.
JONAH
The killdeer come crying across the fields. Limping and crying. Like something hot was buried in the ground. Eventually there’ll be some field left, because it will stop. Or maybe it’ll just keep on.
Bare winter branches cross, merge, and mingle in random patterns of line and space. A thicketed tapestry of layer upon layer.
Power lines. Radio communication towers. And houses. Thousands of hibernating houses. Brand new homes everywhere for everyone.
A lazy circus song gently bubbles from the sleep. The clumsy melody floats through the empty suburban streets.
***
Samson rounds a corner, steering his white truck. He rolls down the street, trolling for business.
A front door flies open and a child sprints across the lawn. He runs down the street, a lone runner chasing the music.
Suddenly all the front doors fly open and children pour from the houses, running across the lawns. Thousands of children streaming from the houses and flooding the street.
The parade of children follows Samson’s truck down the street like the Pied Piper. The bubbling, jubilant, chaotic voices of children, running, jumping, and crowding the street.
The voices of children laughing and chattering.
Then silence.
And just children.
Running, jumping, playing, crowding the street, smiling and laughing silently.
***
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