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Mar 27, 2024

Sea of Color by Haley Williams

The trees embrace me as I walk into their depths. I follow the dirt path, trailing behind the other hikers. Further into the trees that grow taller as I pass, blotting out the brightness of day. I try

The trees embrace me as I walk into their depths. I follow the dirt path, trailing behind the other hikers. Further into the trees that grow taller as I pass, blotting out the brightness of day. I try to keep my breathing even as the incline gets steeper and the trees get thicker. The view of the mountain ahead fades as the trees swallow the blue sky. After what always seems too long, Nymph Lake comes into view. Like a pond, it’s covered in bright lily pads and surrounded by thick evergreen trees. Animals scurry around. A blue jay sings sweetly on a branch over the pond, a bright speck amongst the greens surrounding him. I steady my breath, send my greetings to the far too friendly chipmunks, and continue down the sturdy brown path. This path is always the same. The trees change color, and the air gets cooler, but the path stays hard and ever-present beneath my boots. My pace is even, making a rhythm against the ground, thumping along with my heart.

Past Nymph Lake, the soft dirt no longer covers the paths, there are sharp boulders scattering the hard-packed earth. The trees are opening up, drenched in more colors than what the soft conifers offer. Rich golden yellow joins the fray, and splatterings of vibrant purple wildflowers burst from dark stone cracks. Climbing higher with each step, I come to a fork in the road. The path continues forward, but to the left, there is a dizzying cliff. The trees thin out, and the horizon looms radiantly blue over my head. The progress I’ve made pours into view as I walk closer to the ledge. The mountain always remains still, but I am the one who continues to make progress in my mind and in my surroundings. I can see Nymph Lake already so far away, minuscule compared to when I was just down there. The people are nothing but dots. And staring me in the face: the brilliant Rocky Mountains, giants of nature. Doused in golden sunlight and dressed in the fiery colors of autumn leaves. The town of Estes peeks out. I can barely see it so far away, like a memory in the recesses of my mind. I feel at peace here, like whatever I deal with at a lower elevation cannot follow me here. The only thing I can acknowledge and appreciate is the mountains beneath me and before me. Everything else is insignificant when my eyes fill with the sight of Dream Lake.

The sun dances across the crystal clear water, and animals can be found sprawled through the scene. Fish swim next to the shore, chipmunks skitter across the ground in front of my boots, and deer munch on grass in the distance. Deep breaths bring the scent of fresh pine and clear mountain air. A gentle wind blows the surface of the water. The brisk spray brushes against my face and arms. I bask in the warmth of the sun. My worries melt away, cleansed by my fresh surroundings. My heart slows, and my legs weaken slightly, relaxing after exertion. I’m already tired, my breath short, and my arms tense from heightened blood flow, but I turn from the magnificent sight before me and continue on the path ahead. There is more to see, more work to be done, and there isn’t enough sun in the sky to stay in one spot forever.

The trailhead of Lake Haiyaha starts with a steep incline, smothered in sharp boulders. No mercy for the weak. My feet stomp across rocks. Step after step. One after another. They pound with my heart. The rhythm of the mountain breathes. I breathe with it. I’m dragging, but the wind makes me feel like I’m soaring. With tight lungs and heart echoing in my hands, I make it to another cliff overlooking a vista.

And stop.

I drown in the color of the mountains.

Surrounded by the rainbow of fall, the hard stone beneath my feet and brisk, thin air fills my lungs. Estes Park is a sea of artistry at all times of the year, but fall is my favorite. The trees don the leaves of dying autumn, yet they’ve never looked more alive. The mountains are full of the brightest dawn yellow, the deepest red wine, and the burnt orange of a warm campfire. Leaves scatter across the ground at the slightest brush. Walking along this solid gray path, they spark life and color everywhere they spread. Rocks and dirt clutter my path, dust rising in front of me and filling my nose with the scent of earth and pine. Deep green trees all around make the air fragrant.

The breeze rustles the leaves, and in the distance, a river is rushing, crashing against stones and carving a path in the mountain. The sun warms my face, illuminating the highest peaks and the brightest trees. It streams through the branches ahead, gleaming off the rocks and bark of the forest. I can hear the wind rushing around me, cooling the sweat on my forehead. The branches around me clatter and shimmer, breaking leaves free and allowing them to crack and crunch against the other trees and eventually under my feet. So much effort to get to a place as sublime as this. Attainable only through my own strength.

I sip my water, and it makes me thank the earth for providing such crisp, vital refreshments for its creations. It’s as cool in my throat as the breeze blowing in my hair. I look ahead of me, see how high up I am, and try to truly absorb how much beauty is around me all the way up here. How can I see that beauty not only in the mountain but in my life, too? When I leave this ‘higher’ place, will I carry its splendid spirit with me?

At the trail’s end are the giant boulders surrounding Lake Haiyaha. They’re cool to the touch, especially in the shade, and only interrupted by thick twisting trees whose roots disappear into the crevices of the boulders surrounding them. They work in harmony to create more of a challenge, making the people who climb the mountain work a little harder if they want a good spot to see the lake and the cliffs surrounding it.

After a grueling hike up to 10,240 feet, I feel far from successful. I’ve come so far but still have so much to do, but everything here always seems full of life and energy. I crave the satisfaction of seeing this tucked-away scene. Seeing my labor come to fruition, labor that rarely has a tangible reward elsewhere. I work slowly, one foot following the other and hands grasping steady spots as the boulders wobble and clatter against each other. My unsteady feet fit right in with these unstable boulders. The breeze is invigorating up here. The afternoon sun is warm but not blazing, it casts a glowing aura across the boulders and glimpses off the lake slowly building ahead of me. I scale one last boulder and reach the precipitate I determined would be best to sit and take in the scene. I hang my feet over the edge, get out my snack, and take in the view.

My heart beats like a drum, not from exertion but pride. I’ve made it. My legs are relaxed after the exertion. My stomach is content with the fresh water. I take a deep breath of fresh pine and pristine air, and my head is just as cloudless as the scene in front of me. The sheer mountain seems to pour into the lake, shrouded in shadows and glittering evening rays of the sun setting behind the mountain.

Lake Haiyaha is a creamy, turquoise blue, not what it usually is. The color has been changed because of rock slides that happened last year. Now, it blends with the mountain and sun. Like through the feathers of a blue jay, catching the delicate color. The sun’s warm rays meld with the water like fresh cream pouring into steaming black coffee. Illuminating it from the inside instead of shining on top of it, as it did at Dream Lake. It creates a whole new image, a new environment. So peculiar but breathtaking all the same. It will eventually return to normal, but for now, the lake is a painted version of itself, blended with the vibrant colors of fall, changing its color with the leaves. Going through seasons with the rest of the world and yet enduringly marvelous. I feel as though I’m going through my own seasons, changing in ways I’m not always aware of.

The way home is a breeze, downhill, and back to Nymph Lake in what seems like minutes. The final descent in the woods always seems so lonely, leaving behind all the sights that I can’t truly capture in a picture. My gaze has a habit of falling on my feet, but I get the urge to look up into the deep green trees. There is a spark of color, the blue jay. It seems out of place, its sky-blue feathers like a bright blue flag among the green and brown. My feet beat closer to the tree it perches on, and it chirps sweetly. He hops along to the next tree. I follow him, pretending he’s guiding me home, making the journey less lonesome. The jay seems to play along, leading me all the way to the trailhead.

When the baby blue sky can be seen past the trees, the jay takes to its matching feathers and disappears.

Haley Williams is a 23-year-old born and raised in Thornton, Colorado. As a child, she loved reading but never thought to pursue writing. After experimenting with careers during her early years in college, she discovered her dream job was to become a publisher. Haley firmly believes you'll never work a day if you love your job. In the meantime, Haley is finishing a bachelor's in English with a minor in journalism. Through college, her appreciation for writing and journalism has grown. Haley aims to write in all forms and is never one to shy away from a challenge. With experience in writing academic, informative, and creative works, she has found a fondness for them all. Her proudest works speak through creative nonfiction writing, telling stories of nature and the human experience. Haley will graduate in the fall of 2023 to pursue her dreams of being a publisher.

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