The Forest

This is a creative writing piece for my class senior year about the first time Jon and I saw the forest on our day of adventuring.

From atop a short yet steep hill, a stretch of open, barren land stretching from one knoll to the next is the only thing separating one from the edge of humanity’s civilized world and the peaceful paradise bathed in sunlight and the shade of tall tress. Walking across the grassless earth, the next hill becomes clearer. Rocks decorate the brown dirt, a small stream of water gurgling down and passing over the speckled granite chunks. The top of the next hill brings the destination into view, the forest not shrouded by the usual smog of the lower valley. To the left lays a seemingly dangerous quarry of gray and white rock, the most common of its kind found often in backyards and park playgrounds. On the right, a long and winding worn dirt path heads in the opposite direction of the valley of stones, snaking closely by the mountainside and then returning to its original straight-line direction. A chain-link cage, obviously man-made, protects a pipe and the raging water that flows through it, the furious stream echoing through the mountain canyon. Ahead on the trail, a weeping willow sits undisturbed by the light afternoon breeze, beckoning weary travelers to take refuge in its cool foliage. Hiking past the giant tree, the entrance of the forest becomes visible, and as one makes the final strides toward the calm and cool woods, the breeze begins to die down until it is almost nothing but a faint whisper upon the leaves. Almost immediately in one swift gust, a horde of strange insects descends upon you, blinding you from your line of sight and landing on various parts of your skin, causing one of the worst forms of irritation. The quiet and steady sound of the delicately flowing stream echoes through the empty woodland, filling one with a sense of calm that only nature can provide. The sun overhead is all but blocked out completely by the various branches of leaves that are just barely starting to turn in preparation for the autumn season. The light bouncing off creates the subtle illusion the branches are on fire while still maintaining their natural radiance and beauty. A log, suspended from two trees by unraveling yellow twine on both sides, swings slightly over fallen brown leaves, enticing the inner child to skip over and hop on to relive days past. An old net attached to a tree hangs just above conveniently paced metal spikes, almost looking like a man-made trap set to catch someone’s prey. Past this stands a crumbling stone bridge, dating back farther than anyone really knows. The once strong viaduct, now rusting with age, leads over the small stream, and when the slippery rocks are climbed, an old car riddled with bullets resting on the other side becomes discernible, along with the rest of the forest. Inhaling deeply, the sweet scent of the all-season flowers overwhelms the senses, and for the first time, the setting sun becomes apparent through the vegetation above. Only the sounds of the trickling water, the faint buzzing of insects, and the serene quiet of nature itself fill the ears, and a state of tranquility is reached. All of this makes the long hike up under the hot searing sun worthwhile, and perhaps the most rewarding is the view from atop that small hill after night has fallen and the lights of the city twinkle below.

23 October 2003