May We Come In?

Squirrels chattered, perched on the highest limbs, leaves drifted down slowly in the soft, warm breeze, sunlight danced in the small puddles left behind by the recent storm as others stood in the forest just off the path.  Within sight of the two, but standing outside the maelstrom that consumed them, their arms outstretched to enfold, their faces contorted with concern, love, sorrow, they waited, desperately wanting to soothe, but unseen, unheard, merely part of the background.  As crows roused from their boughs over head, they squawk and cry at each other as the mammoth wall built between them and the two is too high, too strong, too impenetrable, for even the loudest shouts to be heard, whispers floating away with the breeze.  They wait for even the tiniest crack in the armament, they search in vain for the long lost key to the padlock that will release the chains, they bloody their knuckles pounding against the tall black door.  The very essence of them demands to be heard, then begs (no pleads) to console, they cry, sobbing uncontrollably until there is no sound left in them, until they fall, exhausted, numbly to the ground.  The wall, as impenetrable as ever, the tall black door firmly locked with chains and a padlock, they must wait, hoping the two will open the door and ask them in.