sunrise
landscape
valley
scenery
waterfall
cave
the cool shade
the setting sun (sunset)
youth
bounced along
life was a gift, which he would grab for himself
make the most of something
the lines around his eyes
a bald area
mature
his body was curved and bent
slow, clumsy and tired
leaned awkwardly
his old legs struggling to make the final steps
It was just after sunrise, and the sun had just come up over the snowy mountain range in the distance. The different shades of purples and greys across the landscape were transformed into pinks and greens as the yellow light danced over the hills and valleys below. The dark mist, which had been lying in a deep sleep close to the ground further down the mountain, now awoke and turned on itself. As if by some magical force, it stretched upwards*, and now changed into that pinkish colour, and vanished into the cold morning air.
With the rising of the lemon-coloured sun, those magnificent greens of our world became brighter and brighter. That young rich grass, which never grows higher than a few centimetres in high mountains, lay like a perfectly laid carpet over the scenery that was spread out below.
As he stood there like a rock, Tim could now see enough to associate the sounds around him with the features of the landscape. The loudest of these was the waterfall, whose sparkling waters tumbled out of a tiny cave behind him and splashed onto the soaking grass, forming a winding stream that snaked* its way downwards*.
However, there was another sound that came from above, yet was impossible to locate exactly. Tim recognised the continuous merry call of the skylarks* singing out to the arrival of spring and the birth of new life on Earth.
Tim looked back at the stream. He realised he had no choice but to follow it. Firstly, it meant he would never get lost: the stream always ended up somewhere, always found a destination, somewhere worthwhile, it had a purpose. Secondly, Tim had arranged to meet up with some friends, on the banks of the Great River, which lay far below close to the ocean. When Tim gazed into the distance, he thought he could just make out a pale blue area between the land and the sky that must be the sea.
Tim pushed his body forward so he was no longer stiff like the rock he came from, and began to run over the soft ground. The stream was so narrow here he could easily jump from one side of it to the other as he headed down the mountainside. He bumped against large rocks as he ran, bruising his arms and legs, but careful not to squash the delicate crocuses*, daffodils* and other spring flowers that were growing in his path.
He felt he absorbed energy from the stream; youth was on his side as he almost bounced along. His strength was unlimited. He knew where he was going, he was in control, convinced of a successful future, alive and fierce. He had no worries or fears, life was a gift, which he would grab for himself and make the most of.
Eventually, after almost an hour of running, he had to stop, and he leaned against a pine tree to rest, the sweat pouring from his face. The sun was warmer now, and Tim was grateful for the shade of the trees, which were all around him at this height above sea level.
Tim then bent down and cupped his hands to take handfuls of icy-fresh water from the stream. He drank noisily. He now felt better, but when he set off again along the banks of the widening stream, instead of running, he walked.
The flowers had disappeared. The grass was browner under the hot midday sun. Despite the cool shade of the pine trees it was not long before Tim had to rest again. He came across a shallow pool, which reflected an image of his face as though it were a mirror. He knelt down. It was then he noticed, for the first time, the lines around his eyes. He raised a hand to the side of his head, and felt a bald area, where once there had been rich brown hair.
When he stood up straight again, a long strong stick drew his attention lying among the leaves. He picked it up and tested its strength by gripping it hard with his hands, and decided it would provide him with support when walking across rocks and rough ground.
The pine trees were fewer here, and great dark green oaks took over the landscape. Tim was no longer following a stream but a slower-moving mature river. Still, the water was transparent enough to see large fish of some kind in its depths. The heat of the day had silenced the birdsong, and instead, the sound of insects filled the humid air.
It was a time to think back on his past life and ask himself if he had had any regrets. Of course, there had been. His marriage had been a disaster. The divorce separated a family of four, and had left the children lost and confused. His life had been a disgrace. However, he had now figured out that living alone was the best option for himself, and he now enjoyed an inner peace if not total happiness.
The trouble with following the banks of the river was that as the river neared the sea, it wound in long curves and bends, which meant that Tim found himself walking back in the opposite direction for some time before turning around once more in the direction he wanted to go in. The plants and trees grew thicker here too, so progress was slow.
Tim felt relief then when he came to a wooden bridge across the river that would shorten his journey. As he walked across the boards, he heard his own steps and how they sounded slow, clumsy and tired. He saw his body was curved and bent, so he put more weight on the wooden stick he still held. Then he stopped and leaned awkwardly on the side of the bridge to take the strain off his aching feet. He looked around, cautious of these unfamiliar surroundings - afraid of this lonely and remote place.
Before he set off again, Tim looked down at the river, and the face that looked up at Tim from the muddy waters, was older than he had expected. His hair, now grey, was rather long and untidy. Surely, if he had it cut, washed and combed, he might look younger. Never mind, not far to go now.
Sometime later, the path led to a small peaceful village at the river’s edge. There were no roads as such, just dirt tracks. No cars, but occasionally he passed somebody walking with a mule or donkey. They smiled and raised a hand in greeting.
It was then he saw the cafeteria. He had not been able to see it earlier due to the strong light from the setting sun shining almost directly into his eyes. There were some tables outside, empty except for one. Three elderly gentlemen with white beards sat around it drinking tea. Their long shadows reached out towards him. One of them saw Tim and said something to the others, so they all stood up, their gaze and smiles upon him.
Tim approached them with difficulty, his old legs struggling to make the final steps. But he got there, and dropped his stick as he put his arms around his friends, friends who had faithfully stood by Tim throughout his life or since his school days, at least. His friends invited him to sit down at their table, and Tim accepted gratefully. They offered him tea, and Tim drank – his long journey now over. He realised that despite his advanced age, despite reaching the autumn years of his life, he was happier now than he had ever been.
Not far away, the dark river runs on, although so slowly, you can hardly tell the water is moving at all. But if you look closely, occasionally you might see a log fallen from an ancient decaying oak tree float gently by - its journey almost at an end as it draws near the waiting ocean.
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