Lake essays

The cool winter's wind chilled the back of my neck as I walked down the long and narrow straight of the road. It was one of those days with blue sky and the sun shining however the chill of the wind made for an unbearable draught. I was on my way seeking a lake in which I had been told was beautiful beyond all measures.

All of the flowery language can no better describe what I felt than the lifeless pixels which serve to project the image of what I saw. The lone importance, to me, that lies within these words is the way it made me think while writing it. Had I actually udnergone a change based on this experience and what was it?

The gentle abrasive caress of sand on my soles. A first initial "bite" of the cool water strikes me, as it climbs slowly up my legs. I retreat to the beach, my clothes wet and clinging as I discard them and lay them on the rock beside my prone figure. This single rock, whose juts out into the water like an ancient monolith.

This is an essay I wrote while walking in some nearby woods. Ancient giants loom far overhead. Their rough bark, slightly cool and almost imperceptibly moist. It is still early here. A roiling mass of fog covers the ground asking, writhing its ashen tendrils around me as I make my way, asking for help in escaping the rising sun.