Scenes of the forest!

Below is the Write-Up by the budding writer Amaan Babar (My Son). A Critical review, comments from all my contacts are be welcome!!

July 8th, 2017

The North, Pakistan (in winters)

White flakes. They fall from the greyness, swirling and dancing, defying gravity and flitting up before floating back down again. I look out of the car’s window and, excitedly, stick my tongue out. I feel the light flakes gently resting on my tongue and they almost instantly melt, giving a fresh and crisp feel. I look ahead and see the emerald pine trees rhythmically swaying from side to side as if they are performing some kind of traditional tree dance. I hear the choir of magpies and sparrows singing their songs blissfully, completely in a world of their own, free and joyful. The little children squeal at the sight of the intricately detailed snowflakes landing on their cherry coloured noses. I see families enjoying long walks on the winding, cobbled paths leading in and out through the virescent forest, boasting breath-taking views of the summit and the distant but vivid horizon lights.

Upon entering the forest, I feel the chilling winds hit me from all sides, rendering my heavy coat useless. My nose starts to stream ever so slightly and I feel it tingling down my freezing nostrils. I, then, focus on the frosty yet broad layer of pure white snow, freshly fallen, glistening in the narrow rays of fading sunlight. The frost seems thicker than the fleece in my gloves.  I look up to the trees and realise that the seasons have been harsh, stripping away some patches of the outer layers, adding to the natural beauty. The falling leaves elegantly reach the ground from the interlocking branches above, all different shades of orange, red, brown and some even bright yellow. They fall to the ground giving the forest floor a vibrant array of mixed colours.

There is slight movement from time to time made by the restless deer and the notorious Markhors in search for food, hunger willing them on. I pause. I listen. I hear the clear water trickling through its self-made stream, swishing and swoshing, acting as a communal place for the forest’s inhabitants to come and drink the chilled, mountainous running water, quenching their seemingly undying thirst. The water flows quietly and delicately until it hits the jagged rocks where it becomes furious and uncontrollable, causing a riot and quite a scene as it rushes down into what is now a river.

Then it drops. It drops into one of the most sublime waterfalls man has ever seen. The unpredictable, violently-natured water cascades down a series of rocky outcrops, roaring as if the water itself were possessed by some hell-bent beast, gushing so fast that it rips a hole through time.

My lips curl as I start to smile. My smile evolves into a laugh. It is a poetic and alluring scene. Its magical and enchanting. It takes hold of me, not showing signs of letting go.

I don’t want it to.

By Amaan Babar