Story 13 // Fog

First off, I apologize for not being on top of publishing my stories. After my grandma's funeral,  creative writing just seemed to stop. I had a really hard time getting focused on personal projects and have instead been getting lost in books to keep my mind unavailable. But I need to wake it up and get back to this, after all, that's what she would say to me. And to stop procrastinating and to maybe run more. She was a great motivator, even now that I can't talk to her. So I promise to get back to work, and publish stories once a week as I originally planned. And maybe some personal inspiration too. We'll see. 

FOG

The pine needles crunched under her feet as she walked down the well beaten path towards the ridge. It was a very deceiving path. You would never know it lead to anything special. The trees loomed in on both sides, as if trying to hug each other. The air was muggy but cool, like a summer evening that breaks through the heat. Only a few birds flew by, most avoiding the narrow spaces between branches. She saw a nest up high on one branch, little babies sitting calmly under their mother. All of the trees were a deep green that no paint color could describe.

The path opened up a little to another walkway, leading to a moss covered cabin. It looked abandoned, or closed for the season. Either way, it seemed to be doing just fine by itself. The weeds had grown into teenagers and the vines had partially covered the front door, but the red coloring seemed to shine in defiance. It was just about the cutest little place she had ever seen. She pulled out her film camera and snapped a few shots. She could of sworn the cabin was smiling in the last one.

As she got closer to the ridge, the breeze started to pick up a little. Smells of fog and pine needles thickened, filling the air with a cozy aroma. Light peeked out from behind a few young saplings, and suddenly there it was.

The ridge.

The rock cropped out towards the valley below, steel blues and grays of stone as old as time. White and black moss peppered the surface, helping hikers not slip on the lightly dewed surface. The timing couldn't of been better. She got her film camera out once more, and took photos until her film supply was all but spent. Then she turned back to her backpack, and slowly lifted out an urn. She walked to the very edge of the ridge, making sure her feet were well placed before opening the lid. After checking the direction of the breeze, and muttering a few words under her breath, she opened it up and let it fly. The ashes joined the low hanging fog and together they watched the sunset from the best view in the world.