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CHAPTER 2
ARLOW
The earth issoft and workable, thanks to the recent rain. It makes my job much easier, but leaves my hands coated with damp soil when I’m finished. I wipe them off as much as possible on the grass before picking up my tools and weaving my way through the weathered gravestones.
Clouds lazily push the blue out of the sky. Shade crawls across the ground closing in on me as I wash my hands at the outdoor spigot. The fading light promises the perfect condition for capturing what I saw yesterday in the woods and my afternoon plans have suddenly changed. Instead of spending it indoors, I step inside only long enough to gather my supplies into a bag and sling it over my shoulder.
I know the forest surrounding my house well. My footprints must lie buried on every inch of ground as many times as I’ve wandered and hiked through it. It doesn’t take me long to retrace the steps I took yesterday, and the fallen tree waits right where I remembered.
The reason that certain things grab my attention and insist their way into my art eludes me. It can be a simple object like a dirty shovel or rain-streaked window. More often, it’s nature. The forest, the fields, the animals. It sometimes feels like they’redemanding to be drawn, immortalized somehow. That was how it felt when I found the dead tree that lies in front of me now.
It's rotted almost completely through but had kept its shape until a large branch from a neighboring tree fell on it, splitting it almost in half. The end of the offending branch rests in the crater it caused, spilling crumbles of wood onto the ground. A layer of moss has grown over the scar as if the softness might bring some comfort to such violence.
When I came across it yesterday, it was too sunny. I needed to see it like this to fully capture the gloomy feel it portrays. At least that was the excuse I told myself.
I’m full of excuses lately. Something is off. The desire is there but once I get the first few lines, it fades to nothing. What used to come naturally now feels forced. Even if I expend the effort to push through, what results is trash, empty of any emotion.
“Damn it.”
My head whips around at the sound of the soft curse. No one ever comes out here. Other than one time that some teenagers got lost and ended up back here with their four wheelers. I’ve never had to bother with no trespassing signs or anything like that.
The voice came from the direction of the creek nearby, and when I spot the source, any thoughts of drawing the fallen tree vanish.
A woman stands at the edge of the creek, sipping from a water bottle. She walks back to set it on the grassy bank. A quick perusal of the area convinces me she’s alone.
It’s the new neighbor who rented the cabin. I don’t know her name, but I got a glimpse of her with the owner before, and I’ve seen her coming and going from a distance.
She returns to the creek and reaches down. Her fingers scrabble at the mud until she digs out a small rock. Leaning over, she swishes it back and forth through the water then holdsit up to inspect it. It’s just a river rock, grown smooth from the current, but the smile that blooms on her face is radiant. As if she’s discovered some precious gem tucked away in the back woods.
I’m frozen in place, watching and fascinated by her every move.
The stone gets tucked into her pocket, and she rinses her hands again, then picks up a peach that sits beside her water bottle. Her teeth pierce the soft skin of the fruit, and she closes her eyes, savoring it. No doubt she picked it from one of my trees, but she can have the whole orchard.
She sits at the very edge of the bank, stretching out her legs over the water to submerge her feet. Something about her, some indescribable quality holds me in thrall. Every movement from her exudes joy. Like the quiet grin she wears at the simple pleasure of eating a peach in the forest. In that moment, she’s nothing less than peace and contentment personified.
Without taking my eyes off her, I sit on the ground at the base of a tree and pull out my sketchpad. From this angle, she likely won’t see me, considering I have to tilt my head to see her between the trees. My pencil seemingly works on its own while I race to record the way her mouth curved when she found the river rock. The way she closes her eyes after each bite of peach.
A cloud moves overhead, but the gauzy light can’t dim whatever shines in her. Time slips by as I sketch, switch pencils, and sketch some more. She lies back on the bank, throwing an arm across her eyes and for a few minutes, I wonder if she’s sleeping. Until the sun comes back out and hot, heavy air presses in, warning of late afternoon storms to come.
It drives her to her feet, and she steps into the water. Hesitating, she looks around, then tugs her shirt off over her head.
My mouth seems to have lost all moisture as I pull in a sharp, dry breath. I fumble to grab the pencil and start drawing again while my eyes drink her in.
I should leave, but I can’t do it. She’s so beautiful, wading out to the center of the creek that’s about three feet deep, and dropping down until her bare breasts are covered. Leaning her head back, she dips beneath the surface, emerging with a euphoric expression, water dripping from her lips as they part slightly.
Mine. The word slips out under my breath with no forethought.
With her shoulder length brown locks slicked back and darkened, she returns to the bank, taking her time retrieving her shirt.
When she picks it up, a branch snaps nearby, and she frantically covers her chest, looking around. It’s followed by the familiar sound of a deer crashing through the woods. It’s a common occurrence, but not one she’s familiar with judging by her reaction.
With wide eyes, she jerks the shirt over her head and scans the forest. “Is someone there?”
Her gaze skips over me each time while I hold my breath.
Gathering her things, she tosses them in her pocket and starts toward the trail, casting glances back until she’s out of sight.
What the hell just happened? I stare down at the frantic sketch that tried so desperately to capture the unique beauty of the scene I witnessed. What anyone else might see was a woman bathing topless in a creek, but it wasn’t as simple as that. It wasn’t sexual or lewd.
