Old apple tree

The rain slowly fell on the autumn forest, creating a monotonous whispering of branches and leaves, as if inviting meditation in this melancholic atmosphere. The forest assumed a gray unison mask when the rain began to quietly exude its gentle trickles from the dense firmament. Through the weeping clouds, the rays of the sun slowly left, losing their brightness. The forest, like an old widower, took on the sadness and melancholy of this day. In the distance, in the shade of dense trees, stood an old apple tree, the only witness of the past years. The apple tree seemed lonely and tired, its bark cracked with age, as if the runes of time were hammered into each of the folds. Its branches, once full of bright apples, were now bare and sadly distorted by time. The autumn wind brought a faint smell of rot and withered leaves. Under this old apple tree, in past years, children played and picked apples. Happy memories of this place have been noticeably lost, and now only longing and nostalgia remain. The rain increased its intensity, becoming more persistent. Drops trickled down the bark of the old tree like tears, enveloping it in a water cover. The apple tree seemed completely lonely and forgotten in this corner of the forest. Under this rain, in the autumn forest, the old apple tree was slowly losing its vitality. She had witnessed many seasons and many stories, but now her time was coming to an end. Its leaves turned yellow and bent to the ground, as if saying goodbye to the world. So the melancholic symphony of rain continued under the old apple tree, in this corner of the autumn forest, where memories of past joys went on a long journey, and longing remained the only companion of this old, faded beauty.