Standing Watch

September 28, 2016

Standing Watch

We followed a road. Where it would lead us we knew not. It curved and snaked its way through a valley split in two by a river that, like most rivers ebbs and flows. This river slithered through the valley bottom like a curvy silver Chinese dragon. The forest floor was thick with the sweet smell of decay, of new life; soft and porous like a sponge. We approached the river at a bend, its placid surface a deep emerald green, in sharp contrast were boulders as white as bleached bones strewn haphazardly amongst the river banks. Up into the forest we ventured. Following a drainage our path a tumultuous jumble of granite blocks polished to a fine grain, as smooth as glass. The burnt orange bodies of Autumn, curling inwards, the satisfying crunch underfoot, the sound of their heavy contribution. We aimed upwards, massive granite walls meeting their crescendo in the heavens towering above us. The lighthearted transition of the seasons abundant in every step we took. Farther up this small depression we went until it narrowed to a comfortable niche. The other side of the thickly forested valley could be seen and splitting it in places like beautiful scars were pieces of wind hardened granite and cascading waterfalls. A quilted patchwork of almost vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows wove their way across our view. We were home.