Hackfall

As the sun sinks low in the sky, and it’s rich colours melt into the ground, the woods come alive in autumnal splendour. The trees glow golden and upon the forest floor there is a carpet of reds and oranges and browns. The fallen leaves crunch as a figure walks over them, slowly and peacefully, the sound echoing around the haven.

Water trickles down a slope, falling over a bed of burnt umber moss, splashing and tickling as it flows down further. The figure pausing for a moment, dips their fingers into the cool fresh pool, and a smile passes over their face. Onward they walk along the small path, and before them opens out a worn track leading upwards to a plateau on which stands a once majestic building, but which now has become part of the forest, the ivy entwining itself in it’s stones, following the archways of the windows, and moss becoming like a roof around the edges.

The person steps through the time worn door and stands in the centre of the hall, gazing upwards at the purple sky, dappled light shining upon their face through the autumnal leaves upon the branches that reach over and shelter the building. Framed against the back high arched window they stand, closing their eyes. And slowly as they stand there, they can the hear the gently roar of water, down below, and turning, they gaze out of a window across the tips of the trees, a sea of green and red, and look upon a mighty river.

They step once again from the hall, and around it’s walls they go, brushing a hand along the worn rocks, until they turn away from the hall and slowly begin down a path that leads deep into the trees, twisting it leads to the top of steep stone steps, and each one is taken by the figure with slow deliberate steps. And the roaring gets louder.

Crossing another path the person continues, and ducking under a sweeping branch steps upon a moss covered stone. Gracefully jumping and dancing from stone to stone, the person progresses into the heart of the quickly moving water, as it pulls orange and red from the trees downstream. Standing there on the highest rock, they look out to the far side of the river, where the colours of the trees are reflected in the water that flows past them, making it look like liquid gold.

A breeze blows about the person, rustling through the trees like the voice of the forest. And slowly, reluctantly the figure moves from the rock, and walks away, back to the hall and back to the river, but always a smile upon their face for they know they shall return, when the snow covers the ground, and ice halts the river, and when new buds are on every branch, and when the forest is alive with green.

Autumn over Hackfall icclefairy./art/Autumn-over-Hackfall-68603966