I am overcome with a gnawing feeling, beckoning me to the outdoors as the sun begins to set.
The thermometer reads -10 Celsius,
I would not be dissuaded.
I grab my bag, pack up my tripod, layer on some wool and hop on the moped.
The road lay half frozen; a precarious setback indeed,
Upon closer scrutiny a clear line of iceless asphalt appears before me.
I ride.
The biting cold nips at my face, my heavy red peacoat whipping in the wind behind.
I approach the edge of the forest, and with only the slightest hesitation,
I dive in.
The worn trail lies uneven with rocks, ice, and natural debris;
treacherous to say the least.
I tenaciously roll forward, the puttering of the battered old exhaust heralding my approach to those who would listen.
Mixed feelings of caution and wild abandon channel through me,
My course is set, I bounce along, unwavering.
I pass over a small stream and by an open field,
A wisp of a trail lay ahead on my right, weaving its way deeper into the woods.
I slow to a halt and park my loyal steed.
Armed with only a golden-era tripod and the contents of my tooled leather camera bag,
I tread towards my destination.
The frost gives way beneath my indelicate steps, the sound accompanied solely by my listless breath
crunch - crunch - crunch
The foliage gradually parts way into an enormous clearing, trees all but stripped bare.
Evidence of their past lives lies scattered;
Stumps, boulders, branches, dirt, and twigs adorned with ice,
All reaching nary hip high,
Save for the seldom interruption of an Evergreen left looming,
clutching onto the shallow remains of its past days.
In spite of this turmoil, saplings and small bushes triumphantly stand tall amidst the ruin.
And I am bestowed with a gift most precious and constant among nature,
For my bounty lies along the horizon,
its beauty undeniable and unfettered by human hands.
The sunset.
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| A handsome layer of ice embraces the chilly earth. |
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| Pitea's Paper Mill mocks the horizon. |
