Articles, Writing

The Light of the Autumn Day

A rocky river

Note from the author:

This is a piece that I am especially proud of. I wrote it last year in my creative writing course and have been revising it until now. My inspiration for this piece was the peace I felt when I would walk through the woods near my home. This was a time of solace and healing and I hope you will feel the same.


I wandered along the sharp snake-like path. The woods were alive with singsong birds and the occasional chirping of crickets. The sun was a mahogany hue, with vibrant oranges, pastel pinks and purples.

On the east the silver moon was rising just above the line of trees that blocked my view of the horizon. I climbed up the rocky step that comes up to my knee. My fingers brushed past the bush, a soft yellow green. This reminded me autumn is about to start, and I jerked my head up to the trees.

They too looked yellow-green bathed in the orange sunlight. A soft cool breeze made my hair flutter behind my ears. I should probably put my hair up, I thought. No sooner had I reached for my hair tie, when I saw it. The view was stunning.

The sun off to the west glowing, and the trees green peppered with orange, yellow, and brown leaves. The voices of the woods fade into the background and it is like spirits take their places, with flowing waters rushing below. The geese were honking above making their flight. The ducks were swimming gracefully through the water and into the reeds. The moose was munching through the thick emerald green grass and the foot of the boulder.

I sit in the shade of the tree, the sunlight filtering through the gaps between the leaves. I put the blanket down, and eat my sandwiches all the while looking at the beauty of the forest in front of me. I felt content and mystified that such a pristine place existed.

From that moment it was home. Now here I am back in the same place, the feeling still the same as the first. Early spring flower buds shyly open as the ducklings clumsily go between the reeds. I go up the same skinny, rocky path and up on the mountain. I lay my same picnic blanket, a blue and black checkered one, and lay it under the same tree. I take my turkey sandwiches in my woven basket with iced tea, and look at the stunning view in front of me.

The sun is above the horizon to my right, and the trees have little leaves starting to grow. Pink, white, and orange flowers look like delicate balls of beauty.

I breathed everything in and knew once again that this was home.

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