Taupo – Creative Writing Piece

A concrete dawn fog voids over the lake, exposing the bare water that is yet to be discovered. The sun floods through the window, filtering through my eyelids, pulling me back to reality. Four sets of devoted bunk beds crowd the room, each one veiled with dazed faces. I creep out of bed towards our cluttered bathroom, the bath is caught still bubbling up giggles and Santa beards from the previous night. Eventually, the door to the living room peels open, a breeze of humid delicate air blows past me, revealing vivid pink couches that border the room. Large windows wisely allow some fresh air in as the scorching hot summers day has only just begun. Slowly the dawn changes to the morning as the chatter and noise drowns the silence. Just like clockwork, familiar faces fill the windows signalling us to embark on our day.

Beyond the rocks amongst the sand, overcooked bodies are scattering themselves. The sun still thrives on, affecting all relaxed victims. My gaze meets crystal clear water, a hypnotising wave catches my attention as I dive into the lake, allowing me to re energise. Fluorescent orange and yellow kayaks paddle over to us as time begins to dissolve into itself. I become blatantly unaware of the hours that have rapidly passed before our eyes. The sun retires as we tranquilly float watching it set over the hills. White bulbous clouds allow the sunset to hold a fiery tinge to it as darkness hovers above, advising us to call it a night. Sandy footprints trail behind us as we stroll down the sunlit ignited road. Whiffs of barbecue taunt me. The hunger gnaws at the emptiness of my stomach, prepared to devour the traditional summer dinner that carries me to my sleep.

Awoken by a crisp recognisable smell of burning wood that gradually congests the bedroom. Warm toasty air seeps through the crack under the door, making it even harder to leave the barrier protecting my body from the harsh air. Hands clasped shut, holding down the snug shield that ensures no heat can escape. Eventually, I let reality capture me by pulling open the curtains to feel the brutally harsh air from the windows. I watch a figure rest a white blanket over what was once warmer days, putting summer to bed and tucking it in for the season. Through the frosted glass, naked trees are found shivering amongst the wind, swaying back and forth in rhythm. Just like dancers that gift their talents to the audience, showing the world their agility and vitality that they use to survive the winter chills. Leaves progressively surrender in defeat, allowing their protection to fall and be tread on, leaving the body exposed. I finally find the courage to abandon the heated shelter, allowing my flushed rosy cheeks to be nipped.

The lake appears to be still, lingering for the serene awaking touch by the sun. Frosted flowers stoop low, vulnerable yet still braving the winter time. The number of fallen petals grow as each day arrives, their usual green and blue colours become invisible to the eye. Now all that is seen is brown mud moulded with trampled gumboot prints. A reoccurring fantasy repeats in my mind, wanting to be taken back to a warmer time. A time where you could leave the house wearing only t-shirts and shorts. A time where plants blossom and birds are lively. A time where rain was rare and skies were content. But as I take in the beauty of the view, a source of warmth thaws inside of me. Iced ground glitters the road ahead, allowing me to see beauty when the rest of the world is still frozen. No matter the season, traces of warmth are still nearby, radiating from the people who surround you. Cold is cherished when you’re warm, just like ice cream being craved in the summertime.