A Gothic afternoon

For two days, the morning fog has blanketed the hillside rising above the cabin. It is, she is right, a bony, smoky shade. We were standing at the lookout when she said the last. We had hiked up a red clay path on a Gothic afternoon–gray sky, abandoned ruins, blasted trees–only to stop at the edge of the cliff to sit and look abroad and point.

The fog was fast moving. Rising from an unseen source, it billowed and furled and rolled across the scene. When we first arrived, it framed a Dutch village immediately before us yet far off, framed the village, that is, while also keeping it hidden. Soon, the sun had changed things, opening up the view, casting light on the blasted trees and verdant fields, revealing to us the welcoming clouds. All around us–behind, below, far off–the trees had grown up to face the sun. They angled toward sunlight, grew into permanent bends, yearned for more.

Did we yearn for more? I do not think so.

A hiker came up us with determined step. “Cloudy,” she said, looked around, and then proceeded to leave. I wondered what she came for.

2 thoughts on “A Gothic afternoon

  1. Capturing a moment in words spun from the wandering mind are not understood on first read. And in wandering I mean not aimless but free to explore and discover. And perhaps more so to risk. Will they understand? That I can’t say, but I saw the fog framing the village and I understand being captured by a moment. I saw too the face of one that walks through a brilliant moment, a moment that has the capacity to connect you to something more, something beyond their world, yet not even a glimmer of realization. To yearn for more is to me to live more. Your words my unknown friend provided me a moment to reflect and of course to wander, which I do love to do.

    Enjoy the moment

    1. Dear Jim,

      Thank you for these goodly wandering thoughts. Satchel thoughts? We put them in our rucksack and traipse about the woods.


Comments are closed.