the fiction of it

 photo River_zps5b7476e4.jpg
Image credit: DJMatticus
He stood in the river and gazed upstream.  There were plenty of hours in the day, but he needed to get a move on if he was going to get where he was going before the sun settled in the west.  He was loathe to leave such a picturesque spot though.  The trees, the water, the meadow, the fish swimming in the shadows and darting between rocks.  The wind whispered to him as it brushed past him running the same course as the water, down the canyon, back the way he had come.

He swiveled his head downstream and watched the water cascade down a series of minature waterfalls.  He wanted to head that way, head back into the depths of the mountains, but he knew his destiny lay elsewhere.  It would be too easy to slip away, disappear, hide from his life.  That’s what he had already been doing for months.  No, the time had come for him to shoulder his responsibilities and return to civilizaion.

Adjusting the pack on his back without thinking about it, he took the final steps to reach the other side of the stream.  There he turned and took one last lingering look down the valley before turning upstream to find the trail that would take him over the pass and out of the mountains.  That destination was still two days away, but once he was on a trail again it would become real.  He wouldn’t be hiding anymore.  He would be going home.

The whispers of the wind told him he was making a mistake and everything around him was pulling him back down the canyon, the slop of the ground, the rushing water, the trees even seemed to bend ever so slightly that direction.  Turn back now.  You were right to hide.  The mountains are all you will ever need again.

His feet didn’t listen though.  They carved their own path through the muddy ground and raised him out of his darker thoughts.  Each step forward, each step higher was taking him that much closer to where he really needed to be.  Though the urge was strong, he refused to look back down the valley again.  Instead he wiped the sweat from his brow, turned his face down to watch his steps, and grunted as he surged forward, up and out.

Besides, the mountains will still be there if he ever should have need of them again.  They are the constant in his tumultous life.

 

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This is part 2 of my response to this week’s picture writing challenge provided by moi.  Since he is using one of my pictures I’ve giving you both the truth of the picture and also a piece of flash fiction to go with it as well.

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11 thoughts on “the fiction of it

  1. I find that the last sentence is very relatable. Living here in Denver, at the foot of the Rockies, where you can see the mountains from just about anywhere, they do become a constant in life. They’re silent sentinels, reminding me that time moves differently for me than it does for them. My time here is brief, but the mountains are more timeless….

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