Hidden Trails

Setting project in the style of a memoir for my Writing 12 class. Not a part of a full story, just a fragment.

I couldn’t hear the complete absence of sound until I removed my headphones from my ears, wriggling the ear buds out from the ear guards on my helmet. I wasn’t aware the silence was even something you hear, and feel. I found my eyes drawn to abstractly scattered clumps of snow gathered in the crevices made by the folded fabric of my gloves. I tightened my grip on my ski poles, causing the small pools of flawless white dust to cascade to the ground, where they became a part of an endless blanket of pristine snow that was nothing less than breathtaking.

 

         I almost felt guilty for disrupting the previously undisturbed smoothness of the snow-covered slope with my tracks. The only blemishes in the white sheet’s complexion were the tree wells, where the snow dropped off into holes around the bases of the trees, creating lethal traps for careless skiers making misplaced turns. Standing with my skis wedged into the steep incline, my own fragility became apparent. Save for my technique and years of experience, there was no reason to be confident that I would come out of this shadowed, obscure forest unscathed. The area was not marked- technically speaking, it did not exist. It ran in between two cat tracks deep in the thick backwoods of Blackcomb Mountain. I gazed through small holes in the thicket toward the even, well-groomed cat track, about 20 feet above me, sure that it was far to late to hike out.

 

         Where I was perched was a brief clearing in the trees. Elliptical in shape, it seemed to be an anomaly in the constant forest, packed tight with tall, dark evergreens. A chilled yet gentle wind brushed the treetops. Cool air filled my lungs, and as I exhaled, I could see my breath. For the moment, all I could hear was my breathing. However, within a few seconds, a small bird jumped from a nearby tree and into flight. The rapid beating of its wings and the thud of falling snow startled me, and I almost lost my footing. Acting on instinct, I immediately plunged one pole into the snow, sending a puff of loose powder into the still air. It was the stillness of it all that resonates in my mind, really. Without hesitation I could say that it is the most peaceful place I have ever had the privilege to stumble across. My father once said, about the back trails, “A nuclear holocaust could have happened and you wouldn’t know it.” That is the degree of isolation one feels when engulfed in the trees. It is a beautiful kind of alone. Thrilling, it heightens the senses, making the experience so much more real.

 

            I sighed, and launched myself out of my resting place, using my poles to propel me into smooth, gliding motion. Like riding a roller coaster, furious butterflies filled my stomach. Narrowly dodging frozen trees, I left the clearing behind, completely unaware that I would never find it again.

Reviews

[leafsailor]

The writing is flawless, especially for some one your age I grew up with a novelist . words were his life, he would approve, much impressed by this first encounter with your work

[Ciara Di Salle]

Thank you this means a lot!

[Riding the Rainbow]

wow..really liked it..;))))

[Ciara Di Salle]

Oh my goodness you took the time to read it! Thanks :D