POTD: Autumn in the Mountains

I always tell people that engineering is my plan B (a kickass plan B that is more than sufficient to pay the bills) but that my true dream is to one day write a bestseller. It’s a great conversation starter and one that usually gets a laugh or two. Of course, writing a book is easier said than done and that vision is still in the distant, undefined ‘someday’ so for now I’m happy to stick with engineering. However, I do enjoy the occasional creative free write and this is one of my current favorites despite being a little out of season. I wrote it last September, shortly after relocating to Indiana. 

I love my new home. It’s a place for summer. You can see the inviting warmth in the halo surrounding each emerald leaf that refuses to lose its color with the early winter chill. You can hear it in the gentle hush of those leaves as they lull the world into a contented calm. Those tall trees arch over every path like spindly grandmothers with arms spread wide to embrace me and sooth all my worries. This is a good place, a warm, green, summer place.

But every now and then, I catch a glimpse of autumn and the scent of pine sap wafts past my nose, thick and sweet like honey. For an instant, the light changes. The fine bluing dusk of the forest matches the needles of a nearby spruce. I can see ancient ridges that were once the backs of dragons, now alive and ablaze with the fire of thousands of silver Aspens who’s colors have turned with the cool, clear air. They are slender monumental torches lighting the way home. The image is swept away just as it comes into view and I’m left missing the fall mountain green and the dazzling Aspen skyline.

Advertisement

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s