It all begins with a sudden gust of
wind from the south, through the break in the mountains that leads to
the Atlantic, and rushing across the water of this modest valley
giving life to everything. The glass is dissolved, transformed to
rippled waves that slosh against the small, pebbled shore. Water
grass fans as the breeze runs up the pond and into the trees, shaking
the red, yellow, and orange foliage from its slumber. A chill runs
up my back as the winds breath upon my sun drenched face. I shudder
and lean over to zip up my jacket.
The sun casts long shadows against the
vibrant, dying mountainside. From where I stand, the top cannot be
seen. I begin to walk along the thin gravel pathway that traces the
water on its western shoulder. Gust after gust break the fragile
leaves away from their birthplace high in the canopy and shower them
like painted snowflakes down to the mossy, wooded floor. The dusty
dirt trail twists through the shedding trees that now blanket the
forest floor in a sunning palette of color. The ground crunches
under my feet as I tread lightly, taking in the beauty of the scene
around me through all my senses.
I come to rest near a small brook
peppered with flat stepping stones. The breeze courses through the
forest once more, bending the white birch trees and emptying their
crowns of their bounty. The line of demarcation moves slowly up the
mountain as the sun sets over the horizon. I turn and snap several
pictures. A moment fixed for eternity. A windswept pond nestled
like a baby, cradled between the long arms of the Fall mountains; for
me, unchanging.
Descriptive writing, particularly descriptive landscape writing, is not a strength of mine, and I do my best to avoid it. But when I have to do it, I shoot for minimalism--minimalism doesn't necessarily mean 'short,' but it does mean being careful not to get carried away and it means being suspicious of anything smacking of poetry or overwriting or exaggeration. It means trying to make the landscape 'mine,' somehow and avoiding anything conventional, obvious, or postcard-y or that smacks of 'fine' writing. It means looking for one small thing that gives a sense of the larger whole, rather than shooting for the moon. It certainly means being stingy with every adjective, prejudiced against every adverb, suspicious of every verb.
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