the journal of literature and the arts at saint david ’ s school
the radiant sun away . The acrid , smoky smell of fires burning all around is common at this time of the year .
When I am hiking , my thoughts constantly drift back to the discordant sounds of life in the big city back home . A sea of yellow taxis swarm the packed streets , sirens wail all around me ; there is constant razing , drilling , and building by construction teams on every block , and the distinct rancid smell of burning cigarettes overwhelms me : this cacophony is ubiquitous . I return to my hike . “ Dad , can you hear that , over there ?” I ask . “ What ? I don ’ t hear anything .” “ That ’ s right . I can hear absolutely nothing .” I continue marching through the powdery snow . My legs are knee-deep and can barely move up and out . Treacherous winds howl past my ear and all around me . The winter elements are so extreme that I can feel my face start to glow bright red . The snow is pristine , mellow , and wonderfully soft , empty of any signs of footprints . I begin to ponder whether I really am alone .
Nights in Montana are stunning . An array of colors streaks the dark navy blue sky . The sun slowly begins to descend beyond the view of the precarious Crazy Mountain Range to its temporary nesting place . When the sky is fully dark , the bright stars seem to glare down at me . Some nights I lie in bed , so accustomed to the deafening sounds of city life that the eerie silence keeps me awake . Still , lying there in deep thought , I wonder if Montana will become a place of large cities and growing populations , or if it will remain my humble abode , a tranquil place where I can seclude myself from everything and live my life with nature .
~ Gates C .
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