A brisk wind, though the branches stood still, silent. As if they knew what was to come of them.
Across the countryside of yesterday stood a tall oak just eyes view from the road. Underneath it, a young man laid, shaded from the sky’s unrelenting heat. It has stood there as long as the boy could remember.  Looking up at all of the twined tree branches he realized they were all bare. He fell asleep, a dreamless sleep, a wasting sleep. Disappear, transcend, because all of what seems to stand forever, never was there at all.  He listened to the sound of a dog barking a mile away. This place was not his, this place was not any ones for that matter, just a spot aside a road, a spot a few miles from home.
Today this place had turned. There was no wind; only from the passing cars on the highway did the air get disrupted. The tall oak had long since been cut down. In replacement, inside the middle of an exit, stood nothing but a synthetic grass turf. The old mad packed his things and heading for this spot. His children left, his wife and parents long passed. He life was had dissolved around him.  He headed for this spot to sit, and meditate. But nothing stood still, and nothing had stayed the same. So, as the light dissipated on this new land that his boyhood no longer knew, and all of the passing cars became headlights in the darkness of the night, he finally dreamt in serenity of sleep.