The sun finally broke through the gray ceiling of clouds at midday. The rain had come and gone leaving a thick coat of dew draped on the waving fields of tall grass. The lands, largely untouched by any person, had given way to the course of nature. Overgrowth had died, decomposed, and grown again. Vines inched and twisted along branches of boxwoods. Every flower competing with neighbors for the best spot in the sun. Minutes passed and the clouds burned away in the sun’s unrelenting rays. Everything breathed a sigh of relief stretching this way and that. Everything needed was now present. And they died. And they decomposed. And they grew.
(Now, I think that this story has characters–in a way– but no traditional people. There might be a second later.)