Fifth August Blog.
****** ” Cara stubbed her boot against a fallen tree trunk. The rotting corpse showered her foot with dusty debris adding to the brown leaf litter on the floor of the copse. The smell of decay rose into the air around her, infesting her nose. Cara half sneezed. Her mouth ingested the taste of death. Holding a tissue to her face, she coughed to rid her mouth of the taste. It wasn’t that the taste was that unpleasant, it was just that she was allergic to rotting wood. And yet, a gentle walk through the trees was what she always did when problems arose. A therapeutic exercise, a chance to give her brain a rest from stress.
Orange and browning leaves fluttered down around her, like so many dead petals in a forgotten rose garden. So sad that trees had to lose their finery, she thought. Their stark winter limbs so gross in their bareness. But that was the way of it in deciduous woodland and, she supposed it was all fir the best. Nature renewal, and all that. The sweet sound of rustling leaves in summer was joyous. The dark creaking of bare winter arms, noxious to her. A time of foreboding. Cara shivvered, and it was not all because a light chill breeze suddenly blew through the lower branches.
A grey squirrel ( didn’t they get everywhere these days?) scuttled out of the undergrowth, a full mouth of wild nuts, ran for the nearest trunk, scampering aloft before danger caught up with him. Least ways, Cara thought it was a him. The view of his rear end as he rose to a height convinced her it was male ( they really had huge ones), considering the size of the rest of the animal.
Her thoughts were as wild as the creatures living there. Too many problems to solve if at all possible. Yet, how could she create a new life from broken shards?
A soughing wind, stronger than the recent breeze, rustled the tree tops. The sound harsh, adding to her disturbing irrational thoughts. A roost of rooks cawed into the blasted air. Cara thought the falcon had flown close. Not much else disturbed these birds from their early afternoon slumber. A distant fox screamed in unison with the rooks. A woodland chorus.
Cara strolled on, enveloped in Nature’s harmony. Plucking a leaf, half turned in autumn’s finery, thinking how strange it would be if she were a wild animal, having nothing to worry about other than to prepare for winter’s edge.” *******
A small evocative piece. Something I like to do to exercise the old grey muscle occasionally. Gives me some perspective on writing, trying to portray situations, natural environments, feelings, sounds, colour and if I can, smells, even tastes. One of my Creative Writing Tutors once read from a book, with all these elements in. It seems to give the reader a more rounded view. Puts them in the picture, so to speak. Involves them in the narrative,if you will, more so than a flat piece of writing.
Yet, there are many books with very little description so that one has to use inagination quite effectively. This would make the same book different for every reader.
For me, I see a picture in my head, a scene I want to write about, one I can describe in detail, perhaps and I go for it where I can. Of course, not every situation lends itself to graphic description. Some details, short, sharp and shocking, work very well, but I seldom write that kind of work.
Each to his/her own, I would say. This is just my personal feelings.
Have a good weekend everyone, and just be careful out there.