Creative Writing, Annabel Carter

Statement of intent: The intention of this creative writing piece is to use imagery in describing the Meadow hut, located on the Snow Farm. I’ve used many language features in hopes to really capture the reader’s imagination from this piece of writing, Thank you.

It is morning, a crisp breeze sways the tussock in the wind, the tips of its leaves waving back. The winter chill engulfs the only warmth left. The snow plummets towards earth like a Peregrine Falcon diving for its prey. Sheets of white hurls itself toward earth into a bewildering wonderland of snow. The neighbouring frost is opalescent. Its surrounding icicles humorously laughing as if the blood has rushed straight to their heads. They hang impatiently from crevices opening-up the imperfections in the ice, waiting for their fate.

Feel the cold as it bleeds out from the sky. Strips of scarlet red are dappled by clouds as a moon dipped in silver wanders from the near horizon. Golden petals in the sky stretch outwards, painting a rich ruby sunrise. It’s an invitation to a new day. Colours of peach and amber radiating a new beginning. The sunrise begins wrestling through a cloud of smoke, begging at his hands for mercy. It’s comforting as the warmth rise’s through the slits formed in the ice. The humidity swallows with pride. A wave of heat strikes the ice, melting away like ice cream desperately trying to survive the hands of a child.

It is evening, platforms of light are coming from the fluorescent moon perching above the mountain tops. It dances in the darkness. The only light to be seen is of the moons. A wave of compact snow outside the hut ignites a staggering fairytale. It washes up on the balcony as if there was a storm at sea. Its lack of rhythmic percussion does not stop the Hares jumping up and down like pogo sticks stuck on a timer. Beside the hut an overlooking tree has fingernails matching those of a hideous witch, it’s distorted limbs and black claws scratch the outside of the hut, serving as a warning to anyone who dares to approach. Across the flats, puddles lay sleeping within the tracks, frozen to the bone they rest there helplessly awaiting a miracle. A galaxy of stars is draped over the sky like a curtain, creating a fantasy of their own. The various patterns design a city of fire erupting from its ashes. Unlit avenues of smoke, and towers as high as pyramids are alive in the heavens.

Look. The snow has stopped falling like sand in an hourglass. The winter chill has vanished into the air, a deep layer of frost absent from this morning’s ventures. Darkness comes at a blinding pace throughout the night, shades of grey overshadow the windows edges like poison fog pushing its way through a town. A slight sway of wind shakes the floorboards of the hut. The trembling sensation of a breeze mocks those of a 6.8 earthquake. Footsteps of keas can be heard on the timber roof dancing through the night.

And soon you will be laying on your back looking up to the stars, feel the breeze play with your hair, your eyes transfixed on the world above. The snow hardens against your jacket like armor as you rest your head against the tussock. Your eyelids close gradually as the sensation of the mountain takes over your imagination. Into a deep sleep you go, sweet dreams.