The World is hidden by a Blanket.

Once, an oak and a birch tree stood side by side, each sharing in the other's shade, and of course, each enjoying the company of the other. The oak, having lived through many decades, perhaps even centuries, was tiring of the world, and mainly wished only for release from the nuisance that, to him, was life. The birch, a good many years younger, looked at his life's companion and felt nothing but pity. He found himself unable to sympathise with the plight of his partner, so alive and youthful was he that he could not begin to contemplate what it must be like to take no joy in the wonder of the world around them.

As summer turned to autumn, and autumn turned to winter, the oak tree, looking out at a world hidden beneath a blanket of despair, quietly, and yet with a befitting dignity, gave up. He grew wrinkled, shrunk into himself, and the once majestic tree was soon but a shadow of his former self. And the birch tree looked on as his companion, beyond any help he could possibly have given to him, wasted away.

And the sight killed him to watch.