Mountain Trail Creative Writing

Out of breath, I took the final steps up the mountain trail. I stepped out onto a serrated crag, floating out heavenly above the steep drop. A welcoming canopy of trees spread expansively below- a rich, pine green blanket. The wind blew in, arching some of the trees below, my cheeks tingled and my lips unfurled into a wide smile.
But interrupting the scenery was a persistent reminder. Beer and soda cans, food wrappers, and cigarettes littered unsparingly- standing out starkly against the mountain’s layer of earthy red pine needles. I couldn’t ignore it- so I grabbed a plastic grocery bag apart of the display and got to work cleaning up. I shuffled down the slope feet first, with my hands grasping whatever rocks rested behind me. Every couple feet I went it seemed easier to go down farther, and the farther down I went the more trash there seemed to be. Soon I’d collected an entire bag’s worth and also managed to get to a vacant spot pretty far down the slope.Looking around, I couldn’t see any more trash, though of course I knew it was there- but at the moment I had no means to clean it all up.

In front of me there was nothing, and below me there was miles and miles of trees. I could make out a few clearings- some for little perfect houses I daydream about living in, and one for a placid grey-blue lake- alone and unbothered. I could also make out a sickly cream cylinder pouring out opaque white smoke. It pooled together, threateningly puffing out before wisping into the sky’s bright blue- gone from my vision but certainly not from the atmosphere. My thoughts swirled angrily, like the nauseating display was there just to make a triumphant point to me