Monday, September 13, 2010

What Lies Behind the Wall of White?

I sit at the table, cupping my hands around a steaming cup of chai tea. The window is beaded with the tapping raindrops. The wind is blowing fall leaves across the wet parking lot, and rustling the branches of the trees. A gust howls between two buildings.

I can barely see Sugarloaf Mountain in the drizzly fog. As I squint, the siren--used for calling out volunteer firemen--wails eerily over the valley that is Marquette.

Past Sugarloaf, past the dark pine forest and the turning maples, I can just make out the shoreline of Lake Superior. The lake is the same color as the sky, storm gray. The difference between the color of the lake and the fog is so slight. If I couldn't see the vague choppiness of whitecaps, there would be no difference at all.

Not far from shore, the lake disappears behind a white wall of fog. My imagination takes over.

I see a ship, sailed swelled with the wind, as it ventures deeper and deeper into the fog. When the mist surrounds it, what will the crew find? Is there a land that lies undiscovered? An enemy ship with cannons a the ready? A great sea monster?

Does the fog embrace them, protect them? Or does it chill their hearts with dread? Are they warm and content, willing to let the breeze carry them where it will? Or does the crew grip their weapons in fear, sweat prickling down their necks, eyes straining into the chill blank whiteness?

No one will know--unless I put pen to paper and write their story.

4 responses:

Galadriel said...

Very nice example of how the writer's mind works.

Kyleigh said...

I love this, Heather. :)

Mary P said...

This was cool, Thea!

Squeaks said...

Awesome blog XD I just found it after dwaddling on the web for a bit :P I see Galadriel is already a follower *waves*

I think I'll just have to follow and find out what other awesome things you write about :P *clicks button*

Squeaks.

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