I look up, the sunlight peaking through the far-flung branches of the sparse old trees. The air is crisp and clean, the scent of spring floating on a soft breeze. A chill dances across the skin of my bare arms, sharpening the excitement evoked by the relative solitude. My bare feet step onto the cold, damp soil exposed by the worn path made by the frequent tread of small children. Usually when I make this journey through the trees, I am chased by the loud and excited voices of younger children. My siblings, who would bound ahead of me through the dead leaves of former years, the noise made much larger than their miniscule bodies. Often I would watch them run ahead of me, wondering that I had ever been so small. Other days I would race them …show more content…
It grows steeper with each stride, challenging my thin child legs to prove the presence of lean muscle underneath. Boulders are strewn haphazardly across the slope, posing challenges long since conquered. Long ago I asked my mother where they came from and how they got here. She told me they were dropped here when the big glaciers that carved out the mountains melted. Now they seem tame and familiar, dangerous only to those who don’t know every crevice and slick moss covered dip. I climb past the largest, easy to climb despite it’s size. Today I am looking to discover new land. Something impressive to achieve before my siblings follow me like abandoned puppies, longing to prove their …show more content…
Sharp and sweet, the high, clear tone carries further than the twisted scream of my name ever could.
It breaks the spell, and when I jump to the ground, there are no wings to soften my descent. Again, I am stuck in the scrawny body of a nine year old. My hair has returned to it’s natural state; straight, thin, and brown. Jeans and a T-shirt protect me from the elements once more.
“Coo!” I call back. The sound is higher pitched, warbling a little. A trace of magic has stuck in my throat.
Forgetting the dignity of my measured climb, I scramble down the incline, dislodging stones and leaves along the way. Tree roots bubble out of the familiar dirt path in an attempt to slow my mad dash, which I leap over each obstacle with haphazard assurity. My stomach rumbles as I burst through the trees and out onto the lawn. A swing set made of wood and metal bars calls for me to stop and play, but a delicious smell emanating from the kitchen window calls my sudden hunger to the forefront. Mom waits at the door, my four-year-old sister clutching at her legs.
“Were you having fun in the woods?” She asks, curly hair bouncing in its ponytail.
My sister glowers at me from behind mom’s leg, grey eyes
I walk along the narrow logging road, scuffing my feet in the four inch dust. I am delighted to see my dad's big, green skidder, a machine used to drag logs from the woods to the road, up ahead, hopping over stump after stump. I scan the small, freshly-cut patch of aspen trees, lying in the luscious bed of fallen leaves. In his skidder, my dad carefully backs up to the butts of the trees and grabs them up in one skillful sweep of the giant grapple. The huge machine gently speeds to a constant yet jolting pace, dragging the neat bundle of trees behind it. I smile as I watch the tiny green leaves bounce every which way in conjunction with one another. Prancing anxiously behind the dancing leaves are three rather massive elk, fighting to get one more mouthful of the leaves, a rare delicacy for them. I watch for a moment and continue on my way.
I wanted to scream. Not only did I have to battle the wind, but I had that childish voice constantly biting at me. “They don’t work.” My words were small but testy.
A thick plume of black smoke and ash hung in the air in a heavy haze, almost completely obscuring the lurid red glow of the waning sun. Below, a cloud of grey plaster dust twisted and writhed amid the sea of debris as intermittent eddies of wind gusted by.
Untouched by mankind’s talons, rolling green mountains crowned with jagged, treacherous peaks stretch on forever. This simplistic beauty of this world rushes into my soul, reminding me life is about experiencing. “You’re up next,” the skydiving instructor looked at me and smiled, pulling me away from my
Dani and I stand in the sun waiting for the “men” to catch up. The view was worth Quill’s whining and navigating through the snow. The breeze catches in the bright green and gold of new Aspen leaves whispering around the lake. The Pine trees scent the air and bask in the sun to steal its warmth from the forest below. The trees are a dark canopy along our path permitting only a few patches of the raised finely mulched trail to a beam or two of sun. Framed like a photo three pencil lead gray peaks rise above a lower sweeping curve of pines. They look close enough to walk over the ridge and touch them. Boulders precariously cling to the side of the mountains. The perfect deep blue early summer sky is the perfect backdrop.
Over the next several hours, we worked our way up onto the saddle that looped down in between our mountain and another smaller one. As we reached the top, a bitter wind billowed though us, fighting its way into the thin hiking jackets everyone had worn. To our left was the peak, a pile of large and small rocks expanding upwards into the dark clouds, and in front of us was a thousand foot drop that curled my stomach into a tight fist as though it could hold me firmly attached to the slick stones. As we started up the steep incline, I began to give up. The cold assisted by the sneering wind bit at my fingers and toes as pieces hail started to pelt my face.
Slipping on the velvety moss we slowly progress onto the well-worn path up the cliff. Due to the water, my hands and feet shriveled up making my grip stronger. All around I can see beauty. The enchanting clouds, the towering trees, the clear sea-green water. The rocks are steady under our feet but the dropped pine needles create a small hazard, making us slip and slide.
The Story begins on a beach with three young children playing. Violet, 14, inventor; Klaus, 12, amateur researcher; and Sunny, baby, professional biter who has not totally developed speech. When they arrive to the beach it is a cloudy foggy overcast day. Violet is spending her time here skipping rocks, Klaus is studying tide pools and Sunny is just enjoying her time being at the beach with her older siblings. Even though it is not the greatest day in the world, the children are enjoying their time spent here at their favorite place. No other people are here on beach and this gives the children a place to be alone with their imagination. While playing a gentleman is approaching, but with the fog it scares the children because they cannot see who walks beneath the fog. As the figure gets closer they start to figure out who it is. The strange figure that lurked in the fog is Mr. Poe a friend of the family. Mr. Poe comes over to the children playing and explains to the children that their parents have perished in a fire that destroyed their home. Mr. Poe explains to the children that they will have to live with his family temporarily until he can figure out a plan as to where they will go.
The prince blushed and looked down: uhh uhh Hi I heard you singing and was wondering where it was coming from. I best be on my way. Bye. Narrator:
Chapter 1 I awoke slowly. I clutched at my head as I came to, opening my eyes groggily as I looked around at an unfamiliar setting. I am lying on a rocky plain, There are rock structures and floating rocks in the distance as far as I can see, no wildlife or plants of any kind. In the sky above me, there exists only an endless night sky of twinkling stars. Where am I?
Her spry, Timberland-clad foot planted itself upon a jagged boulder, motionless, until her calf muscles tightened and catapulted her small frame into the next stride. Then Sara's dance continued, her feet playing effortlessly with the difficult terrain. As her foot lifted from the ground, compressed mint-colored lichen would spring back into position, only to be crushed by my immense boot, struggling to step where hers had been. My eyes fixated on the forest floor, as fallen trees, swollen roots, and unsteady rocks posed constant threats for my exhausted body. Without glancing up I knew what was ahead: the same dense, impenetrable green that had surrounded us for hours. My throat prickled with unfathomable thirst, as my long-empty Nalgene bottle slapped mockingly at my side. Gnarled branches snared at my clothes and tore at my hair, and I blindly hurled myself after Sara. The portage had become a battle, and the ominously darkening sky raised the potential for casualties. Gritting my teeth with gumption, I refused to stop; I would march on until I could no longer stand.
The wind blows through my hair. The rough ropes are coarse against my palms. My legs are pressed tightly against the warm flank. Rays of sunlight hit the trail ahead of me, seeping through the openings in the foliage. The crispness of the approaching fall greets me with each step.
“Crunch,” whispered the crisp fall leaves blanketing Horizon Hill as I walked along the trail with the companionship of my dog, my mom, and my little sister. It was a clear blue-skied day. There were only a few cotton-like clouds in the sky and the sun was shining through the trees as if you were stuck in a juice box and the brightest light was coming through the straw. My tall brown boots folded and crushed the wandering leaves and sticks on the trail with every step. The mesmerizing fall leaves masked the trail with their bright, exuberant colors of fiery oranges, sunshine yellows, and deep reds and maroons.
As I began to walk this trail, I began to recollect the days of when I was a kid playing in the woods, the birds chirping and the squirrels running free. The trees interlocking each other as if I am walking through a tunnel with the smell of fresh pine and a hint of oak all around me; a hint of sunshine every now and then is gleaming down on the beat path. This path is not like your ordinary path, it has been used quite some time, as if hundreds of soldiers have marched this very path.
In the distance, the trail along which I had been walking wound through a thick velvet fog. Lining the path were tall trees that stoo...