Post by KALISTA VUOKKO OVASKA on Jan 15, 2012 2:10:32 GMT -5
Ever since the sunrise this morning, she knew in her mind that she had to do something with this day. She had to take a break, ease herself. It had been the first full week of senior year at Northshore for her, and it was already proving to be devastating to her sleeping habits. She was only part time, but the work was hard, and she was also doing volunteer work with a local wildlife agency, rehabilitating a tiny, orphaned racoon, which often robbed her of sleep even more. Wildlife Biology was truly her passion, but it was hard work and dedication. But right now, she had anything but the week before on her mind.
She had awoken at four this morning and hadn't slept since. As her eyes aclimated to the light, an impeccably stunning view from the picture window captured her attention. It seemed almost too picturesque to be real -- as if someone manipulated a photograph and pasted it onto the sky. But no, she knew it was real, and it always was. Sunrises like this were not exceptionally rare in these parts, but the sheer beauty of it was almost at a loss for words. A background of vibrant pink above Superior, splashed with threads of gold and, as if someone had taken a paintbrush and put them there, blotches of purple cloud cover. Just above was the last edges of night, its presence marked only by a single gradient of blue. The marriage between sky and sea was unmatched. The hues coincided with such an unruly precision that it made one contemplate if there was not a higher being creating the scene, somewhere far off.
Just looking at the sky, coupled with the residual effects of last night's smoke, inspiration and thoughtfulness filled her like a liquid daydream. She allowed herself to be immersed in thought that stemmed every which way, but mostly her attention was focused on the utter mesmerizing beauty the sky held. It was moments like this that Kalista was often reminded of her mother. She and nature seemed to have the same genuine, wholesome, beautiful qualities to them. Kalista remembered the way her hands, calloused from gardening, felt when she drew a reassuring hand across her childrens' faces in times of doubt. "Every little thing's gonna be alright, child," she would say, in her thick Finnish accent. It brought a half-smile to Kalista's face. But that was over ten years ago, back on the coasts of Trinidad, in Northern California. Inside, she missed her parents. She hoped with a full heart that they were happy back in their hometown, enjoying their retirement.
Jace's soft snoring brought her back to reality. She gazed at him thoughtfully from the kitchen, now. "Some day, little brother. We'll go back," she whispered, half to herself, half hoping he would hear from where he was sleeping, on the couch in the living room. He was far from little anymore, twenty going on twenty-one this summer. Despite his age, though, he was far from being an adult in Kalista's mind. She meandered to the bathroom and pulled her thick, long auburn dreadlocks up with a multicolored patchwork wrap that she had handsewed herself. A quick look in the mirror and she was done with her routine. Makeup was never on her agenda, traditionally.
With a relaxed and optimistic mindset, she got dressed, putting more thought into her attire than usual. She chose a pair of chocolate brown jean shorts, and an oversized goldenrod shirt with tiny brown buttons that, at one time, looked as though it was a man's Sunday dress shirt. Its signs of age were apparent, as the fabric had acquired a slight transparency when viewed in the light. As was her habit, she only fastened enough of the top buttons to cover her breasts -- the rest she left unbuttoned, her midriff peeking from the thin fabric when as walked. She walked on through the door without stopping to put on her shoes. A bold choice of clothing for a day that was only 50 degrees. As an afterthought, she grabbed a sweatshirt that hung over the railing of the front porch and tossed it in the back of her old orange and white truck and started up the engine. She knew she needed this.
It only took ten minutes before Kalista was thrown into highway hypnosis. It seemed as though, like an apparition, she had just appeared at the Pictured Rocks by teleportation. That could also be the reminiscence of the smoke talking, though. I'm just gonna roll with it. She parked the truck, concealed behind a thicket of branches, and walked. Just the opposite direction she had come, actually, diagonal to where the old Chevy sat, opting to leave the sweatshirt she had mindlessly taken inside the truck. She knew she wouldn't need it. Trekking along a new, yet familiar path, she made it a point to really feel the earth beneath her feet. The rocks, sticks, twigs. It was a lovely feeling, one that took her back to her late teenage years, hiking with her brother through the very same woods.
Now at 5:00AM, school woes were long gone, as was any trace of the night sky and pink sunrise from just an hour before, replaced with a honey-golden tone. It was a lovely contrast with the deep blue depths of the Gitchegumee. In fact, she had nothing on her mind -- not a single thought. The only information being processed was perception. Raw, pure sensation that this place seemed to exude with an intensity like no other. She stopped to put as much focus onto each sense as possible. Touch. The air had a calm stillness to it, a moisture from the water; the breeze tossing stray hairs about her face. Smell. The air had a clean aroma that was pleasing to her senses; she could almost taste the crispness of this spring day. The water, the trees, the leaves, the rock -- she could taste it all. The only sounds were the occasional chirping bird and the lapping of the waves against the sandstone and sand. She had chosen a place just out of public reach, a nook she had found on a hike one day. Gingerly clambering down from the rock formations with the finesse of some type of exotic animal, she lowered onto the sand beach. This particular beach was sheltered from view from outsiders by an adjacent cliff. It was perfect for what she was about to do.
Almost without thought, her shorts came off, followed by her dark lavender cotton panties. She never did really like clothes, anyway, and wore them as infrequently as possible, if she could. Taking in all the sensory stimulation around her, she closed her eyes; began to finger the buttons on her shirt. Bottom to top, one after the other. Five. Four. Three. Her breasts were just showing through the bottom of the fabric now, and she felt the chill of the spring winds tickle her stomach, sending goosebumps across her skin. Two. She slowly, purposefully unbuttoned the last and cast her shirt aside, fully succumbing to the chill. None.
"Icy" could not even begin to justify the bone-quaking temperature of the Lake. Even in the summer months, the water was still chilled. Bearable, but not for the thin-skinned, to say the least. Dipping her feet in and walking through, inch by inch the water rising, was not so unbearable, until it began to rise up her thighs -- she let a slow gasp escape from her lips, but breathed deeply and enjoyed the sensation. And I wonder why people think I'm off my rocker, she thought to herself. The water continued to rise steadily up her wide, feminine hips, past her navel, just beginning to lap the bottom of her breasts... until finally, she was fully concealed by the lake. Her frame shivered, but she relaxed herself by focusing on deep, cleansing breaths and the feeling of the sandstone shelf beneath her feet.
The real question might be, why did she do these things? Constantly searching for what others might call bizarre, crazy, and just weird and obnoxious.
The feeling of the water against my skin. The lake, so massive, powerful, it dwarfs me in size. The trees, the cliffs. These forces of nature have no concern for me. They operate on their own time, their own clock, their own need and will. And yet, they foster my very life. My being, though I'm just here for the view. I am who I am, because this place is real. In every sense of the word.
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