Dear Thoughts,
It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve been able to sit down and spend some quality time for myself, that’s the bed I make for myself but of late it’s been a very rewarding bed so excuse me for not jotting down as much as usual. At present I’m sat under a large cedar tree in Summerton Chine, the picturesque inland coves and waterfalls from the abrupt drop of Andrews River. I’ve brought my new camera since it is the new creative mecca of LA and full of perceptive visions just waiting to be captured by a budding lens. Considering everyone else has their own hidey place to just relax and muse, I thought it high time I found one of my own, and courtesy of one helpful cab driver-I think I’ve found it. Who knew the words ’take me anywhere quiet’ would actually result in such a peaceful haven.
I’m surrounded by thousands of greens, large tress, foliage, shrubs and bushes, their deep tones blending with the brown and granite rocks of the natural cove. According to the information board at the entrance, the chine exists thanks to year of erosion by the steep drop of the Andrews River that has eaten away at the soft rocks, leaving shards of harder granite standing and a picturesque waterfall, spilling over the fast flowing waters plunging them with jolly splashes. The swell of the now newly formed lake remained shallow, and at present there are hordes of children playing in the lukewarm water. And then it just flows onward, disappearing on through the woodland chine, heading towards the delta of the sea. You can’t buy such an aura as this place creates. I’m sitting here, putting my pen down now and then as I’m taking the odd memento picture of the boy in the bright red shorts standing under the waterfall, laughing manically, dousing his jet-black hair as if he was in a timotei advert. There’s a painter over by the redwoods, and I spy another couple sitting further forward on the rocks with their charcoal and sketch pads poised at the ready, I was never that good with watercolour or pencils, but hand me my trusty poetry book and you’ll be able to paint a picture from my words in years to come, regardless of weather you’ve been there or not.
I feel re-energized and ready to hit the day job once more, ready to put up with another wisecrack from Zachary and another knowing older brother smile from Isaac. Maybe next time I’ll bring a black and white lens and capture more of the essence that intoxicates you when you sit on the springy grass and just muse in the surroundings of Summerton Chine. But until that next time and my next afternoon off next Saturday, I shall bit farewell.
Au revoir,
Taylor
Satisfied that I’d spent some quality time with my thoughts I decided that as much as I wanted to stay and take a dip under the refreshing spring water fountain now probably wasn’t the best time considering I had to meet a guest from the airport in little under two hours. I taken a few pictures for posterity and sipped at a crushed ice lemonade till there was nothing but frosty ice sludge in the bottom of the cup and despite the hive of activity still going on around me, it was time to head home and start looking forward to a trip back here next afternoon off a week today.
Slinging my camera bag over my shoulder and tucking my thoughts pad in the front pocket I dusted off my shorts and re-tied my sandals as I started a slow walk back towards the car park, hoping to find a cab waiting to take anyone back to the hurly burly city. I passed the numerous amounts of picnickers, families and couples who were on an afternoon getaway or simply neighbours to this wonderful area. I passed the sketching artists on the rocks, capturing a glance of their smudged, yet accurate work and smiled to myself that despite the evolving world of electronics and technology, nothing beat a pad and a stick of charcoal to create something magical and meaningful. As I continued on I found myself stopping briefly to marvel at a young woman, bending down to mix her colours on a plastic palette before sitting back up, tending to the canvas on her easel with due care and attention. She had perfect posture and was biting her lip furiously as her hands held the long brush in her slim fingers, dotting spots of her chosen colour over the taught white sheet.
I scrambled for my camera, not wishing to loose the passionate moment of creativity she was trapped in. Her head was covered in a black scarf, the odd blonde flyaway poking out from underneath, dangling down her rosy cheek, her free hand blindly grasping for the rag of cloth she had tucked in the pocket of her shorts for running paint emergencies. I held the camera steady, altering the lens to focus waiting for her to lean in once again to tend to her masterpiece and when she finally did, I pressed the button a couple of times, praying the vision I saw down the lens was what would come out in development. When I pulled the camera away I noticed her looking at me, twirling her brush in the jar of water at her feet, knowing full well she’d caught me snapping her I thought it only best if I assured her it was for photographical hobby purposes only.
’So another happy snapper has found the bliss of Summerton Chine,’ she smiled, rubbing the bristles of the fine brush gently with the rag. Smiling back sweetly I finally approached her, enough to be able to catch a glimpse of what she was so engrossed and working on.
’I needed somewhere to muse and Summerton is just what I was looking for, and may I say that your watercolour is breathtaking,’ what could sometimes have been called flirtatious patter between a celebrity and a fan was no existent, just the simple praise of one artistic mind to another.
’Do you always take pictures of strangers and then compliment them?’ she continued, returning to swipe a thicker brush through one of the many green mixtures on the stained white palette. Tucking my camera back in its material case, I turned back to her, admiring her calm attitude and her deep soothing voice.
’Normally I don’t get caught, but I assure you it is purely innocent, apologies for not asking you before, but the moment was just there,’
’Don’t worry, I know how that goes, I never leave the house without a pencil and pad in my back pocket,’ she cut in, looking up at me warmly. There was just a certain friendly aura surrounding her, like she instantly understood me and my sudden urge to capture an unknown on film.
’Well Taylor, I hope the picture, how ever innocent it’s intent will be, will be a nice one for your collection,’ she stunned me somewhat by saying my name, but with one soft smile I knew she wasn’t going to thrust her sketch pad and a 2B pencil in my hand to sign an autograph, she was of a much more sophisticated feeling, her mind thinking just like mine only on canvas instead of a manuscript tablature.
’Thanks, and I hope your picture turns out the way you want, before the light start to fade,’ glancing once again at the side angle portrait of the coves and the sketch artists perched on the rocks like limpets.
’I’m sure it will, I’m pleased with it so far. Will you be visiting the chine again?’ she revelled no name to me yet was kind enough to talk to me as an average human, offering no star treatment in her inquisitive words. Looking at my watch then back to her I nodded my head and adjusted the strap of the camera bag on my shoulder.
’Indeed I will be, my next afternoon off is a week today so I shall be back here if the weather will allow,’ I replied, catching her lining up an angle using her pencil and thumb.
’Well you’ll have to come back down and show me your pictures, I’m here every Saturday without fail from when the noon sun shines to when dusk falls,’ just as I was about to ask why she questioned me, she replied psychically. To be quite honest there was a draw to her, a creative mind posing innocent and meaningful questions and despite her looks I saw past the fact she was drop dead gorgeous and managed to see a glimpse of a talented young woman.
’I will take you up on that um….’ I paused idiotically as I realized I was still none the wiser of her name and just as quickly as I faltered she tossed her brush in the pot of water and produced a hand and a Colgate smile. The flow I felt when I slipped my slim hand in hers was overwhelming, the need to know more and the desire to sit and photograph this constructive and creative beauty, yet for a brief passing encounter I decided that the chine’s pull of bliss and tranquillity stemmed far beyond the trees, coves and running waterfall.
’The names Season, Season Mally,’