A Winter's Afternoon

The southern slopes of Turnagan arm were bare on the lower areas, gradually turning into snow higher up. And the day was warm, the view expansive, all the way up and down the length of the bay. After a climb of around 700 ft, I had reached a flat ledge. Here was a view of mountains and lowlands, ice drifting in the tide, and projections of rock and islets along the sides. The cloud stream above was made of waves with chinks of blue in-between, casting a yellowish glow on the waters of the bay.

All along the sides of the ranges, to include the valleys that wandered back into the interiors, the ancient curve joined the hills, forming concavities on the upper slopes where grass and rosebush framed the scene. A line of smoke, originating from the valley across bay, drifted up the arm and filled the lower regions in soft blues. I was now in a place of steepness, climbing around the cliffs, and following a sheep track on the bare but frozen ground. In places where the ice mixed with the rock, I kicked holds into the hardened snow, proceeding from one dry area to the next one.

Such was the experience, high above the road. The shortness of afternoon in Winter time brings intensity of mood and moment. But going back down was the hardest part, where each step on the edge only sharpened the senses with being alive. The air was filled with a glow now. The land had a ascetic look, of muted color and hibernation. Yet this world vibrated in a way of constant motion, with freeze and thaw, producing effects a little different from the previous day. I lived, I felt, and merged in the flow of a Winter's Afternoon.