Statement of Intent: This Creative writing is written as part of the standard AS91101. It includes figurative language to capture the readers attention and to describe a coastal place in Canada.
Slowly sinking rays make their way down the smooth rugged bank. Small, green lanterns sprouting from engraved branches gleam from the fading light. Glowing, the rock face is turned into a luminous show highlighting the assorted leafy colors. Spiky like a pineapple top, staggering larch trees climb up the rock face, running from the Beaufort Sea. Birds’ silhouettes flutter across the peachy sky, slicing heaven with their delicate wings as they fly. They scatter a stream of flowing tunes that dance around dressing the air with a summer ballad, soon to be consumed by the darkness of tomorrow as dawn looms.
Concrete-like layers of sun-kissed charcoal crepes, reach for the citrus Canadian sky, almost falling off the never-ending azure platter. Blemished, bites, brush away, plunging into the infinite rippled sheets of sequins. The rock crepes slowly eroding, like the precious memories of today. Soon to be nothing left but a deserted plate with colossal crumbs, sinking to the bottom.
A perfect peach, floating on the surface is cut in half by the edge of the horizon, scattering splashes of tangerine, coral, and bronze onto the blue-royal canvas. Scrambling for the rocks, the clouds are like cotton candy, blushing from the touch of warmness, oozing out of the star in all shades pink and orange, turning the atmosphere into a festive show of vibrant colors. Sinking, the orb of amber leaves behind a trail of frail rays, that gradually fade into the background. Disappearing, like the grains of time falling to the bottom in an hourglass. Remaining threads of light slice the gritty sea. Broken, shattered, like a mirror, a merged painting of today’s moments is left abandoned on the rough glass.
Rows of rustling, prickly, pine trees, release a delightful scent of freshness that brings back precious memories of the cold-white festive season. Christmas. Sweet and luscious, the perfume of maples, swirling around the emptiness like a kite gliding through a clear day. Overwhelmed by the aroma of trees, the seas salty tanginess, mingles through the forest developing an interesting smell, that sends shivers into the wind. Sweeping away into the rock side, the breeze picks up wrinkles of water from the surface that skims onto the shore, erupting into a silver spray of moonlight.
In the distance, a pearl coloured yacht is blown along by the gentle wind from yesterday’s whispers; chasing the never-ending horizon and its days to follow. Its enormous sails as divine as the neatly, carved, dove petals on a rose, capturing the vanished words of the soothing gust. Its solid oak ripping through the water, separating the sea like a zip being undone. The yacht lets out a boisterous sigh, that echoes its harmonies through the thick emptiness, stretching for miles over the lonely shores.
As today’s colorful hues fade way, tomorrow awaits to see the blues of the day. Waiting, for its time to shine as bright as the stars, that scatter across the night skies. As the hours fade by and seasons flow in, the months will keep rolling like tides coming in.