Frozen in Time

A woman stands out in the melee of summertime shoppers scrambling for the late season bargains on the high street. She wears a heavy winters coat, with gloved hands, fur lined hood raised, and hiking boots. She breezes past the shoppers towards her reclusive destination oblivious to the heat of the sun, and their stares. There is a reason for her seasonally inadvisable attire, though those staring would never believe her. To them she is eccentric or insane and cares little for other people. They will never understand because they will only ever experience life lite.

To the uninitiated it makes a beautiful scene worthy of a tourist board promotional shot, or chocolate box lid, not exactly the compliment it first appears to be. To her it represents freedom of spirit, the power, mystery and strength of nature, as well as capturing a bleak rugged sublime corner of the world. Her corner of the world. A place where winter clothing is essential, not a statement of fashion. The sun was setting behind the rugged peaks of the mountain and casting an orange light across the sky and the frozen over flow pond at the foot of the mountain. Several chutes of water, frozen in time and space, exited crevices across the length and face of the mountain. Eventually cascading down to rest upon the frozen surface of water, their final splashback of the season suspended like a lace skirt being blown upward by a strong gust of wind. Their skirts would eventually succumb to nature’s caress during the spring thaw. Along the base of the mountain and the edges of the larger tributaries, are lined with pine trees, the weight of their heavy white winter coats bending branches earthwards. A larger lake is visible between the trees on the horizon, an older sibling to the pond by the mountain waterfalls. Opposite the mountain stands a large single storey house, whose windows glow orange from the sun. A wisp of silvery smoke stretches up towards the changing sky.

The large over flow pond wraps around a copse of semi submerged windswept trees, within wading distance from the shore nearest the house. Radiating from the trees a thick layer of broken and refrozen ice juts out in the form of waves crashing on the shore in a storm. Expanding from the island towards the shoreline and the base of the mountain, crystal clear ice reflects the midnight blue of the sky along with its orange, pink and red streaks of the retreating sun. At the south end of the large frozen mountain pond stands a lonely figure, her breath condensing all around her face. She resolutely stares towards the frozen waterfalls.

The air is crisp, each intake of oxygen burning her respiratory system, yet she will not move from this place or this moment in time. Looking upon the rock usually hidden behind its watery curtain she feels the cold rock as clearly as if she is climbing the rockface. She marvels at how nature has shaped the ice standing proud of the rock face seemingly still in motion, yet in reality solid and stationary in mid-air. In the winter the sound of falling water from high altitude is replaced by the soft patter of snowflakes as the occasional cracks of expanding ice shake her eardrums. The feint echoes of flowing water are still perceptible on the winter winds bouncing off the mountain side drifting across the ice towards her. She hears them as clearly as she can feel the cold rock. Frost covered virgin snow crunches under her feet as she walks towards a solitary stone bench. Brushing the snow from it with gloved hand she cautiously lowers herself onto the seat to ease the pain in her aching limbs, whilst also gaining an alternate view of the waterfall. The bench is cold and uncomfortable on her sit bones. Her muscles begin to complain and cramp up yet she will remain seated until her soul is filled with the joy that only this space provides.

Her watch alarm vibrates, and the scene retreats in her vision as she rises from the bench and turns her back on her soul’s joy. It’s time to face everyday life again.

A woman in a heavy wet winter coat, gloved hands, upturned fur lined hood, and frost covered hiking boots walks out of the art gallery doors, leaving wet footprints and open-mouthed stares behind her.