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. It is the last ride of the season and I take it all in. Some parts of the trail never change from year to year, completely undisturbed by tumult of the weather. Ahead of me is one of these constants. There is a tree with a red circle. It is the same circle that had signalled my return when I was still a beginner, just newly learning the ways of horseback riding, not yet allowed to ride into the difficult parts of the trail. Unlike five years ago, I do not stop
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.
I tracked over to my favorite spot on the edge of the wood: a clearing encompassed by thick trees. The area had many sweet-smelling balsam trees that reminded me of Christmas back home. A few of the remaining leaves fell from the branches of the maple trees above me.
The chilling night wind rushes through the air, and cuts sharply across my skin, leaving a cold sting in my fingertips, making it harder to hold on. The curtain beneath me sways and shifts as I inch my way down.
As I inched my way toward the cliff, my legs were shaking uncontrollably. I could feel the coldness of the rock beneath my feet when my toes curled around the edge in one last futile attempt at survival. My heart was racing like a trapped bird, desperate to escape. Gazing down the sheer drop, I nearly fainted; my entire life flashed before my eyes. I could hear stones breaking free and fiercely tumbling down the hillside, plummeting into the dark abyss of the forbidding black water. The trees began to rapidly close in around me in a suffocating clench, and the piercing screams from my friends did little to ease the pain. The cool breeze felt like needles upon my bare skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps. The threatening mountains surrounding me seemed to grow more sinister with each passing moment, I felt myself fighting for air. The hot summer sun began to blacken while misty clouds loomed overhead. Trembling with anxiety, I shut my eyes, murmuring one last pathetic prayer. I gathered my last breath, hoping it would last a lifetime, took a step back and plun...
With every step I took I could smell the fresh air with a slight odor of the salty water. I close my eyes to absorb the gust of the early morning wind slapping me across the face. My hair stood up, dancing from side to side as if it was doing the Tango. I felt the crisp white grainy sand going beneath the spaces of my toes almost feeling exactly like sugar. The subtle waves played the music of nature while crashing onto the shore, hitting my ankles every time with tides that varied in size.
The freezing wind had chilled my hand to the bone. Even as I walked into my cabin, I shivered as if there was an invisible man shaking me. My ears, fingers, toes, and noes had turned into a pale purple, only starting to change color once I had made a fire and bundled myself in blankets like ancient Egyptians would do to their deceased Pharaohs. The once powdered snow on my head had solidified into a thin layer of ice. I changed out of the soaking wet clothes I was wearing and put on new dry ones. With each layer I became more excited to go out and start snowboarding. I headed for the lift with my board and my hand. Each step was a struggle with the thick suit of snow gear I was armored in.
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.
A calm crisp breeze circled my body as I sat emerged in my thoughts, hopes, and memories. The rough bark on which I sat reminded me of the rough road many people have traveled, only to end with something no one in human form can contemplate.
Walking through the woods never fails to clear my mind. After spending all day sitting in a stale classroom, filled with stress, confusion, and overwhelming responsibilities, taking a long stroll through the familiar woods behind my grandmother’s house lifts any worries that could ever weigh me down. I never wander through aimlessly. I always follow the trail of grass that has been deliberately cut down shorter than the rest, making it easier to tread through to the small creek at the end of the trail. The entire journey through the woods behind my grandmother’s house, there and back, first took on a whole new importance in my life during my junior year of high school.
Leconte. As I walk, I allow myself to appreciate the scenery. I notice bright pink and white flowers blooming all along the trail. I am completely surrounded by gray rock, which makes the bright blue sky and green trees stand out even more. The trail is starting to become steeper and narrower.
Last autumn, while on a trip, I decided to walk through a State Forest. This huge forest enriches the countryside not far from town and was a place where indians held hunting rights until recently. Little streams, ancient trees, shaded paths, and hidden places are some of the physical attributes which make the State Forest an enchanting place.
It’s a beautiful morning, as my group of friends and I wake up, we hear the pounding and the thrashing of the water slamming on the moss covered granite rock, I go down the eroded leaf covered pathway to fetch water just like I would do every morning, the sun had just begun to rise, the mixture of scarlet red, orange, and a bleach-like yellow beaming against the hurried water of the river that led into the waterfall shone like flakes of gold floating on top of the whitening water. The serene environment of the surrounding rocks overlooking the waterfall, the ambience of water clashing against the granite, and the aroma of the white pine filling the forest is an awe inspiring experience to all who dare make their way down the narrow and lengthy
I experience many happenings as I walk down the winding gravel roads through the meadow. With each step I take, the grey gravel makes a blunt crunching sound under my black vans and chalky white dust envelopes over my shoes. The wind makes quiet hushing sounds as it gently caresses the tall blades of bright green grass that blankets the meadow. Small mousy colored rodents frolic and scurry through the intertwining blades of grass and brightly-colored orange flowers as they begin their journey home to their barrows before the vicious creatures of the night come out to play and hunt. Light brown fawn clumsily follow their mothers to the small shimmering pond where the golden ducks quack happily, rejoice, and splash about in the cool blue water.
I wandered around the path near the lake because it was always peaceful and quiet there in the morning and the trees that hung over the wide walkway only drew me in more. The cool wind blew continuously, and some of the leaves that barely hung on to the branches were pulled along with it. They floated while dropping slowly, and one of the leaves chose my head as a landing spot. I brushed my hair with my hand, not caring if doing so messes up my hair, since the wind already accomplished that job the second I took a step outside my house.
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...