A Boot on a Chimney

3 0 0
                                    


The beauty of nature can never really be boiled down into one thing; sometimes it's in a sunset, or during a boat trip on the open sea. In this case, it began in a small sleepy town that seemed to be entirely populated by people with white hair, lined faces, and gapped, kind smiles. You and as few other people as humanly possible gather together together into a small carriage, where one of the locals will greet you cheerfully and make sure you've used the restroom. Finally, you begin your travel into the mist. The road is bumpy, and you feel each hole and rock from the wheels of the wagon and up your spine. You will pass by ponds as deep as puddles and puddles as deep as ponds. Water clings to your skin like the dew on the green grass and moss you pass by. The only trace of other people is the wheel ruts beneath you and the colors tufts on the back of sheep, which your guide will explain denote the local owner of that particular sheep; pink belongs to Mr. So-And-So and green belongs to Mr. What's-His-Name. Then halfway down the road, you will see the empty shell of a burned-out stone house. Scorched and mossy walls have a clinging hold upon the door, lop-sided and halfway gone. The roof has partially survived, excluding the burnt hole with tree branches poking through. A resolute chimney does its best to keep its towering height while dragged down by ivy and age. The crowning piece upon the top of that chimney is an old boot, miraculously balanced upon an almost unreachable spot. The sight is almost comical; the quiet, persevering efforts of nature to reclaim the abandoned blemish, the surviving structure's personality, partially resignation to its fate, partially optimism for its return to use, and the boot, inexplicably placed where boots are obviously unintended to rest. All of this you will see in the moments before you continue further into the gap. In a few more moments, the house will be behind you. In a few more, it will have been eaten by the fog, allowing nature to resume its slow and steady mission to dethrone the boot.

Scarlet_Streak's Writing JournalWhere stories live. Discover now