Bare arterial branches

Wisps of snow were still on the wind, too, sweet and sharp. The sun was going down. It sank into the stand of beech trees beyond the back lot, lighting their tops, so that their bare arterial branches turned to a netting of black vessels around brains made of light. The tree lolled under the weight of those luminescent organs growing at the tops of their slender trunks. The brains murmured among themselves. They kept counsel and possesed a wintery wisdom - cold scarlet and opaline minds, brief and burnished, flaring in the metalic blue of dusk. And then they were gone. The light drained from the sky and the trees and funneled to a point on the horizon, were it seemed to be swallowed by the earth.