This is the second of a series of moments from my memory that I plan to post as I hone my descriptive writing skills. Each piece stands alone, a simple vignette without any particular agenda. I hope you enjoy them! Feel free to comment with thoughts or suggestions.
A bicycle sped down the pavement, purple frame glinting in the sun. It wove in and out of small clusters of pedestrians, its rider savoring the pine-scented wind as it rushed past her face. Seeing an impossible tangle of people ahead, the rider dismounted without stopping, resting her right foot on the frame before hopping off at a jog.
Threading the bike carefully through the crowd, she turned off onto a dirt path and followed it until it veered sharply at the edge of a blue-green lake. Quite suddenly, the dirt gave way to sand and the solid line of pine trees thinned to make room for stands of silvery aspens.
The rider knew this little beach trail stretched on for a mile before it widened into what most would consider a ‘proper’ beach. In fact, she could see it in the distance, dotted with bright umbrellas and pop-up tents. But her destination was the path itself, where the sandy trail wove in and out of tiny, private coves separated by stands of trees, each secluded in feel if not in reality.
The bike rolled alongside as she walked past several occupied coves in search of one she could have to herself. As they sauntered, papery aspen leaves waved in the breeze, casting delicate shadows in the sand. Deep blue sky and even deeper blue water greeted them at every turn.
Small waves sloshed and gurgled around blocks of granite and weather-beaten logs, occasionally splashing up playfully onto the sand. The bike left tire prints behind in the wet sand, contributing to the temporary record of many visitors.
Finally, the rider spotted a deserted strip of sand. Here, the waves crashed louder, drowning out the background humming of boats and squealing laughter of children a half-mile ahead. The bike came to rest gently against an aspen tree, sunlight dappling its frame.
Sitting down on a damp log, the rider looked out across the lake at the snow still clinging to the very tips of the surrounding mountains. The lake seemed vast, but in a friendly sort of way.
A particularly large wave slapped against the log, drawing her attention back with a spray of chilly water. Tiny blue dragonflies zipped over the surface of the lake while a yellow butterfly flitted back and forth toward an unknown destination.
Only the passing of an occasional kayak reminded her of their hideaway’s proximity to mankind.
© 2019 Jacqueline Tisthammer. All Rights Reserved.