The colors of life, oh every part of life can be arrayed in different colors.
A bright yellow for happiness and maybe a darker shade of blue for anxiety.
A gray for sorrow; a scarlet for tragedy, or even this bright red can stand for bravery.
There is this white as snow as symbol for purity; and black as pitch for death, mourning and agony.
Life is as soon as the calendar's seasons. It ends without our knowledge or reasons.
The beginning of spring where life flows into existence.
There is joy, happiness, and unspeakable beauty -
the life bestowed by the All-Powerful, All-Wise Creator.
Birth. Life. Beginning.
Then comes the summer, when the tidings are high and the sunflowers of the field stood high upon the sun of the noon day. The sun rises from the east and the inhabitants begins to plant, readying for the fruitful harvest.
Then, there's autumn. The leaves of the woods begins to fall, the body begins to decay; the skin becoming like of the tree trunk - rough, brittle and dry.
The leaves turns from green to brown to black - as if going to die.
The peak of the noonday, lowers down;
From the sunrise of the east, to its setting in the west.
Life begins to perish, little by little. Leaves starts to fall from its branches and then, there's a picture of an old man:
The old man sitting on his warm couch, reminiscing how fast the good old days have been gone quickly. How he was born in the beauty of the springtime; how he planted in the peak of the radiance of the sun of summer, then the reaping of what he has sown in the beginning of the autumn.
Then, as the seasons of the calendar approaches, now, there's this freezing blow of cold air come telling all inhabitants of the land for the coming winter.
The old man pick-up his blanket while sitting freezing cold on his warm couch, in front of the firewood blazing ember of his old fireplace. Then the old man opens now his mouth to his children, grandchildren, and his great-grandchildren; telling the story of how life is like the colors of pastels; the seasons of the calendar; and that life is a fast-phased story, like a grass that soon withers away.
"Oh my dear children, how quickly life could be?
Like the waves of the sea, like the leaves of the tree.
How quickly life could be;
but I, with a smile, wanted to tell you a story -
Of what is the greatest treasure here for me;
The only thing that matters on the end of this brief journey,
Is to have wisdom on Christ the Living God, and surrender unto HE. (or Him)"
After saying those, the old man laid down on his warm couch, then:
His voice weak; his body weary; his skin soggy; his hair's gray; he coughs badly; his face with wrinkled old skin; and with huge smile on his face - HE BREATHED HIS LAST.....
Then the snow fell like breeze from the sky.