Purgatory.

The sun danced across the withering trees
as if attempting to revive them from winters cold breath.
It illuminated them in such a way that allowed the crisp blue sky to enhance itself in every inch that it occupied in the background.
The half shattered limbs swayed in the wind,
creaking a sad melody of forgotten yesterdays.
The ground was ridden with snow,
glazed with ice and it's fear of warmth.
Patches of pitifully proud earth
provided a glimpse of hope for the sparrows;
who were starved for color and sound.
Even the insects were stricken with grief,
stuck in a state of the utmost depression.
As the hours fly by, the sun dims,
and the once invigorated trees retreat back to their limp structure.
The ice grew greedy with the chilling temperature.
Once again the sky was dark, the world was silent,
and the earth was still.
Stuck in the purgatory of seasons.