012: passing

The lake was still, the cool autumn breeze too weak to even cause a ripple on its surface. Though the day was still young, when the songs of birds should have filled the air, it was as silent as the dead of night. Appropriate, it seemed, for the sullen young man, who was leaning against a tree on the riverbank.

"Funny, how a year has passed," he mused in a whisper, "when it feels so little has changed..."

Slowly, the youth raised his hand and breathlessly opened a small vase. The wind picked-up, as ashes took to the air...