Insomnia: My Muse
The wooden boards of the dock creak loudly as my feet slap against them, propelling me forward with each stride. Toes scrape against the weather-worn wood as I spring from the edge. The sun, lazily hanging in the air, undisturbed by clouds, beats down gently on my arms and back and glows upon the surface of the cool water below me. The warm skin on my hands seemingly sizzles slightly as they part the surface, and suddenly I am submerged. My vision goes black, my ears thump with pressure, and bubbles slide from my mouth and nose, tickling up the front of my face and through my hair. Arching my back, I return to the surface and open my eyes, my heated skin sufficiently cooled. The water is a mild green all around me, and weeds slither up my feet and legs. Sounds of children screeching at play and dogs barking fill the air, and a jet-ski hums in the distance. The water smells faintly fishy, yet clean at the same time, and somewhere along the shore, a leafy yard waste fire roars, puffing plumes of thick smoke into the air, stinging my nostrils. Treading water, I make my way through the weeds and lilies to the end of the dock, grab the weathered wood and hoist myself out of the water. The dock radiates heat, and I lay on it facing up to the sun, letting it evaporate the lake water from my skin, droplets caressing my body as they slide away and through the gaps in between the boards, making soft music upon their return to the lake. Breathing deeply, the smoldering smell of leaves subsides and is replaced with the sweet scent of supper, and I am enthralled. Deciding I am dry enough, my toes once again grip the weathered wood of the dock with purpose, my feet slapping the creaky boards and propelling me along towards supper. I am at my lake house.
This was an exercise in a writing class I had. Write about a special place you go to. Mine is my cottage.
Sensory imagery is a big focus in this piece, as I find it hard to be at my cottage without taking notice of all these things around me, and freezing them in my memory as some of the best times I will ever have in my youth.
This was an exercise in a writing class I had. Write about a special place you go to. Mine is my cottage.
Sensory imagery is a big focus in this piece, as I find it hard to be at my cottage without taking notice of all these things around me, and freezing them in my memory as some of the best times I will ever have in my youth.