Once my thoughts were light cottony clouds. The more I contemplated, the heavier they became and soon my clouds hung low and stormy. They got to a point where they could not maintain any longer and they burst. Fat word droplets poured down and the people, being afraid to be wetted by the drops, put up their umbrellas and ran inside their houses. They listened contentedly to the pitter-patter on their roof and felt relief that the drops had not soaked into their skin.

Once my words were the green leaves of a maple tree in spring. As the season grew older, the wind blew and abused the leaves, desperately trying to detach them from their branches. The sun burned them and the rain bruised them, until finally the natural forces overcame the discolored leaves. They fell to the cold earth with all of their former strength and color gone and decayed on the grounds of misunderstanding.

Once misunderstanding was a bonfire. It grew and got hotter and soon, underground, roots caught hold of the fire. The flames jumped from one tree top to another until soon, all of the forest was devoured by the dreadful force. All that was left was a single river. Still running and even stronger in character; but alas, left in solitude.