chance, his umbrella under his arm, walks through the woods.
chance walks deeper into the woods, absorbed in the greenery. he stops by a tree, brushes some snow from a branch, moves on.
chance happens on a tree with a cracked limb, hanging to the ground. he stops, inspects the break, runs his fingers along the split in the bark. he looks to the ground, notices that an end of the limb has fallen on a seedling, bending it double. chance pulls the limb away, then kneels beside the seedling. he removes an expensive paid of suede gloves, and, with gentle fingers, brushes the dirt and snow away from the seedling. chance glances up to the remaining limbs of the larger tree which could fall and threaten the emerging tree. he unfolds his umbrella, places it over the seedling in a way to give it protection, yet to still allow it to receive light from the winter sun. chance stands, puts his gloves back on and continues his walk, disappearing into a remote section of the woods.
chance walks through the woods, his pace faster than before.
chance walks with determination through the woods.