Finding Winter

Chapter 7

Fallen leaves crackled under my feet and the wind rattled the barren branches above me when I sprinted farther and farther up the hill. It was strange. In this secluded area, a hill sandwiched between two higher slopes, the trees around me were more vacant than any other place I have seen- a place that Fall had chosen to torture with its later effects. 

The gold that was abundant in the field of aspens below did not grace these parts. Instead, it was littered with riches and masses or brittle copper and bronze. Though the scenery was decaying- dying, it was beautiful in its own haunting way. There was an open chill that wasn't present in the lush and thick gathering of the trees below; an open canopy that revealed Fall's gloomy, low hanging clouds; and the still, almost dead, air. 

Most of all, there was nothing to be heard, nothing to signify that anything was moving. That was the beauty of this, a place so still time itself could not move it.

I was still in a rush to find and meet the blue orb, but the overwhelming exquisiteness around me caused my frantic feet to slow to a sprint, to a jog, to a trot, to a walk, and to nothing until I was eventually still.

It's ridiculous that I'm such a huge sucker for resting and living in the moment, but nature never ceased to take my breath away. It was beautiful- almost magical.

But then the trickling of a small creek bubbled progressively louder and conquered the silence the more I started listening to it. A flash of the creek with a small bridge from my outer body experience went past my eyes. I was near.

Moving past the beauty and narrowing in on my destination like a hawk, I resumed my run and was relieved by an open clearing that had a spread of scrawny, unfilled aspen trees roughly outlining the circular opening like a natural, white picket of fencing. 

To my right and hidden near the back of the clearing, a quaint but clearly abandoned two story family house sat lonely in its own graying and rotting erosion. I kept a mental note to explore later, but my eyes quickly scanned over the empty swing hanging from the limb of a sturdy oak to the little handmade bridge that arched over a bit of the creek.

Without the bridge, I could have easily stepped over. It must have been made for a child. Other than that, it would have served no function besides decorative purposes.

The history, or my own imagined one, of this place coursed through my mind like a movie as I walked closer and closer to the creek. I could almost see a young couple deep in love, toiling and laughing in their own sweat and tears of joy while they built their home from the ground up, a child in a white summer dress kicking her feet up in the air as she swung towards the sky, and a father and his daughter knelt together at the edge of the brook looking for snails.

The water rustled quickly by, and I was awakened from my illusions by own reflection staring back up at me.

Wonder if there were any snails that could be found here.

Smirking and exploring the story I fashioned, I knelt to the ground and looked at the small bridge that sloped gently over the calm waters. Age had worn and blackened what once was detailed and sharp, but I could make out etches of all sorts of magical creatures: nymphs, fairies, and giants. I smiled. Whoever this was, I could tell they loved their craft and whoever they made this bridge for.

"Kalum."

Taking my eyes off the art before me, I gazed up in the direction of the voice and found the blue orb hovering and bobbing up and down in mid-air. The copper leaves, that had scattered across this whole clearing, gently tumbled away from it in constant intervals- bringing the circular breezes radiating from it into visibility. Its tendrils had eventually rushed over to me, and it brushed my hair past my face and carefully whispered past my ears.