Writing a Picture

Each morning upon waking I look out the window to see a favorite view; One that lifts my spirit
the lake,
tall pines,
the birds
and sky

Most days I trek down to our well worn log swing so I can have a closer look at the bay. I sit , gently swaying back and forth and study the landscape. Today, I contemplate how one might describe this vision to someone without sight.

Unlike the artist who paints the scene for others to enjoy, or photographer who sets the shutter speed to capture the perfect picture, the writer must rely on words alone to show
the lake,
the pines,
the birds
and sky

The wind is blowing hard now , whipping the lake into row after row of cupped white capped water. From a distance it looks like it might have the texture of freshly made merangue . Across the bay , a crooked shoreline outlines the boundary between earth and water. Mountains ,blanketed with thousands of Evergreens, frame the background. Closer to where I'm sitting I notice hundreds of new growth pinecones - reddish brown, still miniature in size hanging from tall pines like ornaments on a Christmas tree. Another gust of wind causes clumps of old dry needles and broken twigs to fall from the trees. They crunch underfoot when walking across the wooded trail - sounding like Rice Krispies: Snap, Crackle, Pop.

Two black billed magpies catch my attention. Their white belly and long black tails give them a glamourous, dressed up appearance , as if wearing little bird tuxedo's, ready to attend a fancy black and white Ball. They are gregarious and playful; Fluttering their wings, they quickly move from one place to another other making me think of kids chasing after each other in the school yard at recess.

The sky is a softer, lighter shade of blue, giving contrast to the darker, deeper blue of the lake. The colors are calming, like eating comfort food. I look up and watch as clouds drift by and am reminded of cotton . That's how the clouds seem to me now, like big balls of cotton I could reach up and gather in my hand.

Time passes. I remain sitting on the swing and stare, as though lost in a trance, and continue to behold the beauty of nature's bounty
the lake,
tall pines,
the birds
and sky.