On a dim, cold, and stormy autumn evening, the gusts of wild winds shook the last remnants of leaves from the birch branches. Other trees and bushes had long been stripped bare by the relentless winds. The entire ground was uniformly covered with a sticky, clinging, opaque brown layer of dead leaves. Nature seemed to be dancing in a frenzied primal dance of death. Amidst the whirl of wind and swirling wet leaf dust stood a solitary pine, tall and proud, with its dark green needles and perfectly straight cones. The pine stood there, gazing longingly over the rolling landscape of Southern Estonia, as if striving to reach even higher to see if any like itself were still visible in the distance. Only the empty, wind-whistling branches of leafless trees could be seen in the distance. The old pine sighed and closed its eyes. Suddenly and unexpectedly, the wind shifted and began to rage from the opposite direction. The half-asleep mast pine jerked and tried to resist the wind, but it was too ...