Winter's Chill [Original - G] - Amortentia

Posts : 174 Join date : 2011-05-15 Age : 29

Fic Title: Winter's Chill
Author: Amortentia
Fandom: Original
Format: Narrative
Genre: Nature Writing
Rating: G
Word Count: 717
Warnings: None
Status: Finished
Summary: A young woman returns to her hometown after a personal tragedy.
Notes: This was a creative writing/nature writing assignment I had to do for school, hence the intense focus on nature.

Posts : 174 Join date : 2011-05-15 Age : 29

Winter’s Chill

I shiver slightly and pull my jacket close around me as the chill wind rustles my hair, wisps flickering in front of my eyes, in a dance with the few remaining leaves moving above. It’s shocking just how little has changed here, when my own life has been turned upside down around me. The trees, bare and leaning from a recent storm, with branches strewn on the ground like the scene of a violent death, is the only startling difference, the immutable force of nature’s storms as unstoppable as death. The vines have still managed to entrap the trees, clutching the trunk in a ceaseless attempt to overrun the trees that dared to remain standing, their broad roots clutching the ground like a lifeline.

Breath catching at the sound of Faith’s laugh, splashing in the water, I turn to find only the bird’s twittering overhead and ducks swimming peacefully in the water. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, the crisp, cold scent of winter filling me as I remind myself that I’ll never again hear my daughter’s laughter, taken away by cancer as she was. I open my eyes, and see the twisting trees, intertwined and reaching, and can almost feel her in my arms, embracing one last time.

I am suddenly reminded of coming here as a young girl and sitting for hours watching the never changing scene before me, a meditative way of overcoming the sadness I so often felt. I suddenly wonder if there was a young girl in another time who escaped to this spiritual oasis, whether my own daughter had a place of her own. As I bend to pick up a pebble, tossing it gently into the water, the ripples spread out in slow circles, and the reflection of the gray sky and embracing trees is distorted for a time. I stare in fascination as the ripples spread throughout the whole swamp, and slowly begin to fade, leaving the swamp as still and unmoving as before, and I’m struck at the insignificance of this small disturbance: the trees remain as undisturbed as ever, the brambles and outcroppings of grass seem unfazed, and even the ducks ignore the waves passing by, and the realization of the fleetingness of one life leaves me breathless.

I sit down on a large rock at the edge of the water, drawing my knees up around me and trailing a finger through the cold water, algae twirling around my fingers in a graceful dance. I’m surprised to recall the first time I did this, even younger than Faith at the time, with my mother, laughing at my ability to interact so in nature; a great feeling of regret washes over me as I wish I could have taken Faith here to do the same.

For a second the clouds shift overhead, and the sun breaks through, temporarily ridding the swamp of the darkness, and I can’t help but raise my head to the sky, soaking in this relief from grief. The orange leaves on the trees seem brighter, the smell of grass is more palpable, and even the thorns among the brambles look less threatening than seconds before and the first smile since the loss of Faith crosses my face. The moment passes as quickly as it came, the sun retreating behind the wall of clouds, as if it, too, was astonished at its sudden cheerfulness.

I continue to sit, watching the ducks float aimlessly, with no responsibilities now or later to attend to, and stare up at the ageless trees, wondering what it must be like to watch the decades pass, before the silence is broken by the abrupt whining of an airplane overhead, an unwelcome intruder to this timeless place. When the noise slowly dies away, I stand slowly, muscles stiff from sitting so long, and turn to leave, but before I do so, I walk to the water’s edge, collecting brambles in a smile pile at my feet. It is only after I place the small cross under the tree on a blanket of moss that I turn away, and slowly return to reality—but I can’t help but wonder how long it will remain there, and if anyone years from now will wonder who had placed it there.

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