The trees reaching, their leaves like hands, branches like fingers; fingers trying to grasp the last of the sunshine's rays before he slowly dips over the horizon, not to be seen by these trees again until the crack of dawn. The calm water a dark orange, smiles and sends small waves to the shore; the trees not only soak up the water, but also the smile. You see, they've been dying by the thousands recently because of beetles, digging their way up, underneath the beloved bark, and stealing the trees' life force. The trees, old and young, wise and not, could use a little happiness and maybe even a little help. Though old, they make mistakes. Mistakes not to be taken lightly to the naked eye.