My deep subconscious creates endless similiar narrative stories of row upon row of spindly trees, denuded and bare of leaves in the deep frigid cold of winter. Outcasts, cut off, pointless and ineffective sentinels. Progress is slow, frustration grows, scenes of desolation, despair, deep unhappiness manifest themselves nightly in my dream state. These dreams take on a life of their own, I twist and turn, cry out, push away with my arms these images that invade the deep recesses of my mind. The cold, mind numbing in its intensity attacks my physical body by day and my interior thought process in the dead of night. I awaken, exhausted, my exhalations hang momentarily suspended in the still cold air. Interminable winter will be gone soon and the Scarlett apple trees will bloom and apples will grow. Life renewed.