Endangered Pygmy-Possum

Scrambling down the snow-capped trees, one of the few that still remains - 

Searching, desperate, for a stable meal, after waking from an endless sleep. 

To their dismay, no prey greet them; but what does is a sickening mayhem. 

Trees, their trees, collapsing from the wrath of machines, the emptiness consuming the now-bare mountainside.

But out of the coldness comes a warmth: the soothing palm of a hand.

A reassuring gesture telling them that, amongst all the fright, everything will be alright.