reflections snoitcefler words by haley hutchinson '23
M
y tender feet, raw from miles of elevation gain, inch closer and closer to the lapping water of an alpine tarn. Trickling between cracks of granite, the lake’s motion breaks the silence that echoes between gray peaks, teasing an evening sky. I cautiously dip my feet into the water. The initial shock is breathtaking, but soon the frigidity begins to relieve the aches and pains my feet have grown accustomed to after long days of hiking rugged terrain on the east side of the Sierra Mountains.
The last ribbons of heat from the day fade into the approaching dusk. With my toes submerged in the cooling water, I sit in stillness. Like polished glass, the tarn mirrors its surroundings–the texture of the rubbled rock lining its edge, the crusted moss wedged between granite slabs and mud at its bank, the lonely white pine scarred from a lightning storm a few summers back, the gleam of a setting orange sun. A slight breeze ripples the image, calling attention to the distinction between the physical and the reflected. As the moment drifts away, the air leaves a loud quietness, save for the breath in my chest, reminding me that out here,
I am alone.
16 16 "REFLECTIONS" BY HALEY HUTCHINSON
