Fried Ice

On this oddly bleak and gloomy evening I decided to take a walk into the winter wonderland that is the outdoors. My cold hardened eyelids creaked open to witness the amazing contrast of the force that nature wields. My nostrils numbed at the first whiff of crisp, fresh air that I had taken. The snow crisply blanketed the entire bewitching environment in a deeply white blinding blaze as the moon’s intense aura of reflection gauged out my eyes leaving me dazed and brain dead with an onslaught of bewilderment.

Bizarre charcoal objects, covered in jagged tears of permafrost that I cannot believe were once lush shrubs eerily protrude from the shield of temporary crystals which lay upon the barren terrain. Each spec of ice on the ground had been through an incredible history. Harvested in the balmy waters from outlandish sea shores an ordinary particle from the broth of water is put under the perfect circumstances, energised from basking in the heat of the sun, it started levitating to it’s amazement and formed part of a fog-like weather system, through blasting winds and apex of temperature fluctuation that would kill a human…

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Until, somewhere along its travel it meets face to face with a benumbing sector of ague that strips the life-force of this unfortunate substance and leaves it to plunge to its defeat on the dirt. A spine chilling sensation of unwanted excitement creeped up on me as each arctic wind waved at the feathers of icy flakes placing them onto my gently steaming, pale neck, on which they gradually liquefy. I can almost hear their shrieks of agony as their once epic journey comes to an unsatisfied, arbitrary halt.

The only sound was that of a ghoulish abate wind through the narrow crevasses and glacial gaps between uncountable icicles, it had simulated a bantam fear in myself. The entire setting seems beautiful in its own slightly depressing way. I have decided to return to this amazing area this morning since it is now into the spring months and I would like to be able to disintegrate the pillar stress built up within me. I am astounded at the difference in the once barren scenery, it is hardly recognisable.

It now resembles the once care-free life that I had as just an infant. At first breath, the air is pleasantly humid and contains an extravaganza of aromas that range from the sugary, honey-like fragrance from the new birth of the flowers as they break through the grassy-green bud enclosure to the scent of dung from the wild mountain goats’ droppings. The scene is strategically cluttered with the widest variation of colours that flutter in and around the predominant greenery.

A heated breeze floats through the bushes and willows causing the lush sunlit leaves and twigs to gently rustle bringing the sense of life to the pristine land. There was a perfect saturated bright pea-green blade of grass staring at me with an immaculate droplet of morning dew that was glinting in the yolk-orange rays of the sun. I could hear the flutter of two royal-blue dragonflies engaging in the activities of the creation of new life as they beat the dense air with their wings and the tune of certain insect that felt compelled to sing in it’s seemingly joyful state .

This landscape almost seemed to have a certain nutritional value to my eyes, it was beautiful and gave me the feeling of serenity in noticing all the new life in spring compared to in winter. This environment seems to have the perfect balance without the influence of the human race, this leaves me questioning what purpose we have on the earth. Might our purpose just be to survive?… We will never know.