Craven Gap, NC

Late in the afternoon of the last day of winter, warm sunshine lay on the side of the mountain. Its pleasant light brightened the branches of sleeping trees, and reassured a lone hiker that winter was finally over.
But then the sun fell quickly from the sky and a breeze swept across the trail stirring leaves and raising a surprising chill out of the earth. A strong gust slipped through the hikerÂ’s jacket and under her blouse.
Uneasily, she zipped her jacket, reached for her cap and gloves and turned to head for her car.
The shadows on the trail quickly darkened. A ferocious wind raced up the pathway, hiding it and hurling leaves into her face. The wind began a low howl as it rose into the tree tops, and the hiker suddenly knew that her jacket would be no match for this cold night. She began desperately running for her car, still half a mile away.

As the trail and forest grew dark, bitterly cold air rushed out of the frozen earth, devouring those soft breezes which had occupied the mountain for the past two days. The icy wind roared up out of the frozen rocks, slashing and twisting and bending the trees, whipping their tops and sending leaves and needles swirling headlong, stinging the frozen skin and numbing the mind with its vastness and intensity. Great frozen strength penetrated the universe. Winter had come again, reclaiming its mountain kingdom - reigning again - ruthlessly, righteously, implacably, eternally sovereign - never to leave again! Then it was no longer just the wind which was howling and roaring, but all the creatures and trees, the rocks and hills, the entire world was screaming and crying with shock and agony on this, the last night of winter, 1991.


Morning finally comes and the hiker returns to the mountain with the sunrise, to find that winter has burst - like a soap bubble - still clinging as a fine film, scattered here and there on icy ledges and in snow-speckled hollows.
Whistles, peeps, croaks and the song of birds gently float along with the smell of earth and water on moist, gentle breezes while the cold starlight of those long winter nights bids farewell to the mountain, glinting and sparkling as it fades away under the trees and shrubs.
It is morning - the first day of spring.

©John Womack, 2006. All Rights Reserved