There is a forest, sparse and bare, lying behind a brown house. It is a very welcoming house, containing the memories of friendships and family.  The forest, however, has been there for as long as anyone can remember, and so it will remain.  In this forest, there is a lake.  Frozen and bare, a crumbling log hangs over the surface.  The lake lies in the center of the cold winter forest forever waiting to be discovered.  There are many tall trees, mostly birch, surrounding the lake.  They watch all that passes with the eye-like markings blinking all over their trunks.  Today, the trees see something new.

Two girls packed in fuzzy coats run under the icy branches.  They help each other under low branches, over wide rivers, through icy patches, and occasionally trip over thorny plants.  They smile wide, taking extra care to step on each one of the balloony mushrooms that spray green gas when squished.  The old, decaying leaves crunch icily under their feet cushioning their loud, heavy footsteps.

They carefully check the ice with the toes of their shoes as they reach the bank of the icy lake.  The smaller girl takes the other by the hand and helps her over the fallen log to the center of the lake.  They slide around on the slippery surface, cautiously at first, but soon adjusting to the feeling of ice under their feet.  Two pairs of feet slide around for hours, and noses slowly turn pink in the biting wind.  The cold finally takes hold as the friends cross back over the log and head back.  They once again navigate over the various logs, rivers, and ice back to the brown house.  Laughter so loud and joyous it can be felt for miles around.  The vegetation guides them back, whispering directions in the travelers’ ears as they head back to the real world.  The trees have seen many things, but they know, many years from now, the girls will find their way back to the lake again.