Sharing part of a novel prologue
This week I just wanted to share part of the 3-part prologue to my soon to be released 6th novel - "Green Expectations". Here goes:
Vanessa Denton entered the bush on a trail widened over time by many footsteps. Trees and undergrowth closed around her and sunshine turned to shade below the canopy of greenery above her head. The air was warm and she was soon perspiring.
As she headed uphill, feeling at one with Gaia, she experienced a deep kinship with the living things around her. She suddenly wanted to throw off her clothing – the trappings of civilization – and move along the trail like Eve in Eden, but she laughed off the idea.
She could have identified any tree by its species; instead, her gaze darted from trunk to trunk, taking notice of their aesthetic differences in size and texture and colour. On impulse, attracted by a particular mottled bole, she stepped off the trail, wrapped her arms round it and pressed her body against the almost smooth bark. After a few moments of stillness she believed she could feel the tree’s vitality soaking into her and, in gratitude and sharing, willed a return flow from her own essence.
Aware of being away from the rush of the city and alone in a wild place, she let a peaceful languor spread over her body.
She savoured the sensation for a few moments then moved on to another trunk and embraced it with the same emotion as the first. Looking up into the branches, she urged the young tree to stay healthy and grow into a giant like others around it.
Resuming her walk, the trail still climbing, she continued deeper into the forest, encountering no one. It was midweek and most visitors, like her friends and acquaintances in SOFA, came at the weekends.
A fantail darted across her path and, delighted, she paused to watch it. The tiny bird flitted swiftly from perch to perch in the undergrowth near her, blending into the background briefly as it flew and then reappearing when it settled, but only for a few seconds. It seemed to be inspecting her from different angles as if trying to figure out what she was and what her intentions were.
She watched for the fantail to reappear but it had flown away. Perhaps the bird was satisfied that she, the interloper, intended no harm to its forest home.
She started walking again but her idea returned of going up the trail like a naturist. Knowing it would be unconventional, taboo really, gave her a thrill. So why not use the opportunity to thumb her nose at convention?
She halted on the trail and let her breathing slow. The risk of being seen by another person was slight, she told herself and, anyhow, if she heard someone coming – like a hunter for example – she could quickly hide in the bushes.
But what if she got no warning? She’d want to disappear into the ground with embarrassment if a stranger came across her walking naked up the trail.
Was it worth it? Her heart-in-mouth excitement said it was.
She undressed spontaneously, before she could talk herself out of it, and only her last two items of clothing – shields for her modesty – were hard to shed.
She folded the clothes and stuffed them in her daypack. Unencumbered by garments, feeling a sense of liberation, she resumed her climb, her tanned limbs moving freely.
There were butterflies in her stomach, and her heart was beating faster than simple exertion required, but Gaia would be approving of her deep communion with nature.
Later in the day, dressed and returning the way she had come, Vanessa emerged from the forest edge and approached the waterway that she would have to cross to get back to her car. Upstream, the unnatural colour and shape of a man-made object caught her eye. Lying partly submerged, out of harmony with its surroundings, was a red quad bike tipped on its side.
She assumed someone from the farm had had a misadventure and had gone to get help with righting the bike.
The stream was flowing high and the large stepping stones in front of her were under water, visible but treacherous. She exercised caution, a balancing act, and made it across to the opposite bank.
Now she only had to climb a gorse-clad slope to reach the pastureland on the other side of the ridge. She had no premonition of what she would see when she neared the top nor, as a result of what unfolded, of how values she held as dear as life itself were going to be threatened.
Note: "bush" means "native forest" in the NZ vernacular
Vanessa Denton entered the bush on a trail widened over time by many footsteps. Trees and undergrowth closed around her and sunshine turned to shade below the canopy of greenery above her head. The air was warm and she was soon perspiring.
As she headed uphill, feeling at one with Gaia, she experienced a deep kinship with the living things around her. She suddenly wanted to throw off her clothing – the trappings of civilization – and move along the trail like Eve in Eden, but she laughed off the idea.
She could have identified any tree by its species; instead, her gaze darted from trunk to trunk, taking notice of their aesthetic differences in size and texture and colour. On impulse, attracted by a particular mottled bole, she stepped off the trail, wrapped her arms round it and pressed her body against the almost smooth bark. After a few moments of stillness she believed she could feel the tree’s vitality soaking into her and, in gratitude and sharing, willed a return flow from her own essence.
Aware of being away from the rush of the city and alone in a wild place, she let a peaceful languor spread over her body.
She savoured the sensation for a few moments then moved on to another trunk and embraced it with the same emotion as the first. Looking up into the branches, she urged the young tree to stay healthy and grow into a giant like others around it.
Resuming her walk, the trail still climbing, she continued deeper into the forest, encountering no one. It was midweek and most visitors, like her friends and acquaintances in SOFA, came at the weekends.
A fantail darted across her path and, delighted, she paused to watch it. The tiny bird flitted swiftly from perch to perch in the undergrowth near her, blending into the background briefly as it flew and then reappearing when it settled, but only for a few seconds. It seemed to be inspecting her from different angles as if trying to figure out what she was and what her intentions were.
She watched for the fantail to reappear but it had flown away. Perhaps the bird was satisfied that she, the interloper, intended no harm to its forest home.
She started walking again but her idea returned of going up the trail like a naturist. Knowing it would be unconventional, taboo really, gave her a thrill. So why not use the opportunity to thumb her nose at convention?
She halted on the trail and let her breathing slow. The risk of being seen by another person was slight, she told herself and, anyhow, if she heard someone coming – like a hunter for example – she could quickly hide in the bushes.
But what if she got no warning? She’d want to disappear into the ground with embarrassment if a stranger came across her walking naked up the trail.
Was it worth it? Her heart-in-mouth excitement said it was.
She undressed spontaneously, before she could talk herself out of it, and only her last two items of clothing – shields for her modesty – were hard to shed.
She folded the clothes and stuffed them in her daypack. Unencumbered by garments, feeling a sense of liberation, she resumed her climb, her tanned limbs moving freely.
There were butterflies in her stomach, and her heart was beating faster than simple exertion required, but Gaia would be approving of her deep communion with nature.
Later in the day, dressed and returning the way she had come, Vanessa emerged from the forest edge and approached the waterway that she would have to cross to get back to her car. Upstream, the unnatural colour and shape of a man-made object caught her eye. Lying partly submerged, out of harmony with its surroundings, was a red quad bike tipped on its side.
She assumed someone from the farm had had a misadventure and had gone to get help with righting the bike.
The stream was flowing high and the large stepping stones in front of her were under water, visible but treacherous. She exercised caution, a balancing act, and made it across to the opposite bank.
Now she only had to climb a gorse-clad slope to reach the pastureland on the other side of the ridge. She had no premonition of what she would see when she neared the top nor, as a result of what unfolded, of how values she held as dear as life itself were going to be threatened.
Note: "bush" means "native forest" in the NZ vernacular
No comments have been added yet.
