The trees stand, clustered behind the clouds, their trunks and branches forming streets and towers, like a city on a hill.

They part just far enough apart to reveal a hidden story—
Is that Summerland?
Is that reality or is that just a dream?

I keep looking into the distance, hoping to see You coming,
Down from the clouds,
Into the city of trees—

I wanted to draw a beautiful scene..

Mountains first, but the colors clashed

Mistakenly, I painted the lake red

I wanted the sky bright but the wrong shades made it dark

The trees I shaped with care, somehow looked spiny and lifeless

What I called a perfect scenery..., soon turned into my worst painting

Time is so cruel.
One day the future looks bright.
The next, dreams are gone.