Sunlight drips onto the twisting ivy that wreathes the ancient oak. The oak and ivy leaves are mottled with dappled light as they reach up in reverence to their golden god. Shadows shift across the forest floor, the only indication of time passing. But day fades into night and night into day; flowers bloom and wilt; time does not pass after all. Maple keys twirl in a faerie dance to rest softly upon the fallen leaves. Their dance is as quiet as their audience. Day fades into night and night into day. Time does not pass after all.