She walked uphill against the grade of switchback after switchback feeling relieved with every turn of the the compass coordinates. Relief played its tune deep in her brain with each step, the growing distance leaving the imposition of newly introduced friends behind.
The wind picked up stronger as she picked up elevation. The swirling leaves spun about her head. Their reds and oranges and yellows intermixed and fluttered against her chilly face's skin. Each of their myriad touches gave her instant pleasure akin to the touch of a love's caress. She felt more attuned to love's reception by these desiccated, yet crazy beautiful falling parts of trees' former covering than by the touch of human hands.
"Thank you dear deciduous trees, true friends of mine. You shed your clothes of spring and summer's turns for mine. Here, my gratitude for your kindness."
She began humming Tchaikovsky's melody of Swan Lake.
"I know all of you can hear me, even though my humming isn't quite loud enough."
She accompanied the melody using her voice with improvised lyrics, shouting out her words with strained enthusiasm. "As you prepare to enter winter's sleep, . . . let the winter's cold of snow and icy grip, . . . lull you to another realm of hidden peace, . . . ah, . . . oh yeah, . . . that hidden place I would with you embrace, . . . if I ever could . . . La, Lalaaaallla, La, . . . "
The spell of ecstasy was rudely broken by a stronger gust of wind that made her lose her balance and fall. "Oh wow. No, no Mr. wind. Don't. You almost made me fall!
She broke out in quick bursts of laughter feeling relief again as she exhaled each burst of tension's effect. She looked down below her left. A fall would have meant at least 200 feet onto a rocky nest of jagged rocks intermingled with twisted bushes and brambles.
"Oh my God. Thank you Jesus. You will charge your angels to watch over me."
The royal blue of the eastern sky's horizon served as her backdrop curtain to the foreground's descending crescendos of falling, flailing leaves. The tempo rhythm increased in frequency, making it hard to see. "I guess I'd better pick up my own tempo Mr. Wind. Let's see what music goes good with this, . . . yep, got it."
She began shouting out the melody of music box dancer by Frank Mills. It began getting difficult opening her mouth, the muscles in her jaws became numb. "Brrrrrr, gettin' cold. Could you stop blowin' for just a se, . . . "
A stronger gust of her tagging friend, the wind blasted her against the rock knocking the wind out of her causing her to fall down hard on mountain trail.
"Ouch! That hurt. Now look what you've made me do." She clutched her right shoulder with her left hand and massaged it vigorously.
"Great. I suppose I'll have a bruise. Nice and purple, my favorite color. I was singing to you to Mr. Wind. Jealous?"
She righted herself up unsteadily finding her equilibrium. Between the wind and pain, unsurety set in. "Kinda wish the dudes I left behind were here now. Not! Gotta find shelter."
The wind picked up stronger as she picked up elevation. The swirling leaves spun about her head. Their reds and oranges and yellows intermixed and fluttered against her chilly face's skin. Each of their myriad touches gave her instant pleasure akin to the touch of a love's caress. She felt more attuned to love's reception by these desiccated, yet crazy beautiful falling parts of trees' former covering than by the touch of human hands.
"Thank you dear deciduous trees, true friends of mine. You shed your clothes of spring and summer's turns for mine. Here, my gratitude for your kindness."
She began humming Tchaikovsky's melody of Swan Lake.
"I know all of you can hear me, even though my humming isn't quite loud enough."
She accompanied the melody using her voice with improvised lyrics, shouting out her words with strained enthusiasm. "As you prepare to enter winter's sleep, . . . let the winter's cold of snow and icy grip, . . . lull you to another realm of hidden peace, . . . ah, . . . oh yeah, . . . that hidden place I would with you embrace, . . . if I ever could . . . La, Lalaaaallla, La, . . . "
The spell of ecstasy was rudely broken by a stronger gust of wind that made her lose her balance and fall. "Oh wow. No, no Mr. wind. Don't. You almost made me fall!
She broke out in quick bursts of laughter feeling relief again as she exhaled each burst of tension's effect. She looked down below her left. A fall would have meant at least 200 feet onto a rocky nest of jagged rocks intermingled with twisted bushes and brambles.
"Oh my God. Thank you Jesus. You will charge your angels to watch over me."
The royal blue of the eastern sky's horizon served as her backdrop curtain to the foreground's descending crescendos of falling, flailing leaves. The tempo rhythm increased in frequency, making it hard to see. "I guess I'd better pick up my own tempo Mr. Wind. Let's see what music goes good with this, . . . yep, got it."
She began shouting out the melody of music box dancer by Frank Mills. It began getting difficult opening her mouth, the muscles in her jaws became numb. "Brrrrrr, gettin' cold. Could you stop blowin' for just a se, . . . "
A stronger gust of her tagging friend, the wind blasted her against the rock knocking the wind out of her causing her to fall down hard on mountain trail.
"Ouch! That hurt. Now look what you've made me do." She clutched her right shoulder with her left hand and massaged it vigorously.
"Great. I suppose I'll have a bruise. Nice and purple, my favorite color. I was singing to you to Mr. Wind. Jealous?"
She righted herself up unsteadily finding her equilibrium. Between the wind and pain, unsurety set in. "Kinda wish the dudes I left behind were here now. Not! Gotta find shelter."
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