The Meadow

As I walk down the green hillside to the swampy land below, my legs are tickled by long, delicate strands of tall-grass. I approach the bottom cautiously, hoping my legs won't sink too deep in the marsh underneath me. I step around a hole in the ground, filled with dirty water, towards the dirt path I notice from across the field. I start to sing as I mindlessly wander, allowing my brain to momentarily shut down as I step onto the trail I know so well. I walk past dead branches of trees, sprawled out along the cold Earth's surface. I notice they are covered in bugs, as twigs snap beneath my feet. The warm breeze fills the air and I feel my hair lift, flowing around me to welcome the start of a new season.
Now that summer is almost over, the snails are beginning to mate, and I step carefully around them to avoid harming them. They are all around me, brown and yellow shells every few inches, and I jump to steer clear of a family of them. I hear a distinct crunch of a snail shell from beneath me. I feel bad for it, hoping I'd misheard and I'd actually stepped on a stick. I look down to see the bits and pieces of the brown shell, held together by a pasty-looking gooey mess. It's shattered into a hundred pieces, it's original shape no longer recognizable. Not wanting to let this ruin my day, I mutter an apology and continue on my journey.
I look up to see the sky shining in a brilliant blue, not a cloud in sight, just telling me that everything will be alright. The browning grass under my feet means the path has stopped and that I have to find my own way now. A special set of trees comes into my vision, my red scarf from months ago still tied around the aging trunk. This marks my turning point, and I turn at the same corner I had many times before. I keep walking in the new direction for a few minutes until my throat begins to feel dry. The thirst brings me to a halt. I unzip the side pouch of my black backpack long enough to grab my water bottle, and take a swig before placing it back in it's determined place. The cold sensation flows through the rest of my body, refreshing me, and pushing me to keep going.
I turn around the bend, pausing to hear birds crying from the East. They squawk to tell me it's a beautiful day for a nature hike. I smile, glad that I decided to go today. It had been a while since I visited this place. I see the stream a few meters ahead of me, excited to be getting closer. I hop over the water as I think to myself it was also a good day to wear shorts, and that I didn't have to roll up my jeans this time. Some beautiful flowers are in bloom to the left of me. They are pale yellows and delicate pinks. I pick one as I pass, and inhale the striking sweetness. I pick up the pace, impatient as thoughts of what's to come pass through my head. I skip as the trail turns into a meadow, plucking the petals one by one. Once the petals are all gone, I drop the lifeless stem to the hushed ground.
Looking at my surroundings, I debate between the two trails that lay ahead of me. One zigzagged and the other straight, over a little hill. Trees separated the two paths down the middle, and I contemplate the length of each route. I fix my shorts and play eenie-meanie-minie-moe, ultimately landing on the second path which runs alongside the sparkling river. A family of ducks swim by me, blues and browns alike, each one trying to stay in line behind the previous one. I watch with amusement as they quack and stick their little heads under the chilled September water. The breeze comes back to me after being momentarily forgotten, and I feel goose bumps break through my exterior. I rub my hands over my arms in hopes that they would vanish.
Distracted, I hit my head off the leaves hanging from a low branch of a nearby tree, leaving traces of torn leaves in my hair and tickling my neck as they brushed by. It's getting colder now, I realize as I feel my temple. I climb up the little hill, only for a few steps until I grab onto a branch of the closest tree and slide into the ankle-high water a meter below, water seeping into my shoes. I watch my steps as I trek through the river. I glance toward the shady tunnel only meters from me, wishing I had a stick to hold me up and keep me from falling into the harsh cold waiting below. I grab the edge of the tunnel, hoping I won't slip on the moss-covered rocks beneath my soaked sneakers this time. I walk along the left side of the tunnel, remembering it's more shallow than the right side.
The sound of the running water is disrupted by a train passing overhead. I feel the wall rumble as the dirt above the tunnel is scattered down the wall in front of me and into the water. The train passes after a few moments, the rippling water becoming more still now, the sounds of the train long gone already. I take my time to cross over to the right side of the tunnel before I exit, knowing the current is stronger outside. I approach the wall, holding onto a giant white rock on the edge. I climb up on top of the rock and up again to solid ground, my eyes adjusting to the light. I'm a meter from the water's edge as my shoes empty of water. I take a moment to shake the water from me, and keep on my way. A grey squirrel chases it's mate into a tree as I walk around a puddle caked with mud. I watch them with a smile as I hear the squeaking coming from my shoes.
I follow the river, bending to the right as it did, and listening to the rushing sounds as they soothed me. So peaceful, so calm. I put my backpack down, and take my purple cardigan out of the bag. I lay it down and sit on it, improvising a bed and using the backpack as a pillow. I close my eyes and open all my other senses. I smell the water and the trees, and the strong scent of dirt. I hear the waves going over the waterfall, only a twenty second walk from where I am. It's only a meter and a half tall but it's still beautiful.
I feel something. Something wet, on my arm. What is that? I open my eyes and sit up to see a Golden Retriever beside me, his cold black nose pressed against my forearm as he tries to catch my scent. I watch as his nostrils flare, and he looks at me for a second before he runs away. I watch his yellow fur disappear into the trees, curious as to where he came from. I take out my journal and write an entry, as a reminder of the day. Hours pass as the sun goes down slowly. The sky fills with purples, pinks and oranges. After a picnic dinner, and some picture-taking, I pack my stuff up and begin my hike back.