The sands of time continued to ebb and flow. Even the tiniest sound became special in a way. When the wind flowed South, the sound of the branches rustling sounded more pleasant than when it flowed North. So many interesting things came and went recently and now things became stagnant. Yet, the world moved on unabated.

An occasional fly would whiz by, attracted by the smell. It would land upon the rock and explore every chip and dent for something to eat. By the third fly, the dried up blood and guts from the bird's methods was cleaned up and the smell began to fade. A creature that was a symbol of pestilence had removed a mess and helped the smell go away. It was a pity that no more would come.

A few insects took up residence below the rock. Nightcrawlers that took shelter during the day and left for the night. They were never seen, only felt. Worms, beetles, and centipedes. Their presence was comforting and prevented the rock from being truly alone.

The trees stood tall, overwatching everything. Alive, yet terrible conversation partners. Their entire lives they would simply stand tall and reach for the skies. Even after death, they could stand for years until finally falling with a great noise. Yet, no one was there to witness these falls and comment upon them, so they might as well be silent. And finally, when the wind started up, they seemed to whistle and sway, dancing to the tune. At this moment, the wind coincidentally flared up quite violently. It was flowing to the North.