The snow on those peaks were always said to be tinted violet on the first sunset of each summer,colored by the reflections of the sky. All I knew was that the snow was cold, my journey long, and my friends watching and waiting for my return. But I also knew that my troubles were well worth the reward.
The snow crunched below my too-large hiking boots, reminding me of that long winter, now behind me. But my dreams and nightmares still haunted me, and though my pain had lessened I still blamed myself. I could've stopped it from happening, I told myself.
"John, look at this; it's called Violet Hill, isn't it lovely?" Her voice, now only a memory, echoed in my head.
The wind beat down harder afainst my back, which was weighted down with a pack that contained only essentials: hiking gear, good, sleeping bag, flares in case I get lost, and her.
"Goodbye John," I heard. It seemed as if the wind carried her words from my memory and spit them back at me. "Keep safe."
I should've told her the same. Instead, when I returned home that Christmas, all that was left of her was a simple jar filled with ashes. All through those long, cold months, Violet Hill ran through my mind. "It's called Violet Hill, isn't it lovely?" the reminiscent wind whispered.
I crossed a short, trickling river of melted snow. Tomorrow is the first day of summer, I reminded myself. I need to be at the top by then.
But already the sun was setting. I couldn't hike up the slippery mountain at night, so I decided to set up. Slowly, I plodded on in search of a flat surface.
Spotting a small cliff jutting from the side of the mountain, I changed course, unbuckling my backpack. It was big enough for a bed and a fire, and sturdy enough to stand upon. I set off to work.
"We're great friends," aren't we?" the wind breathed into my ear. "So you'll bring me to Violet Hill, right?"
The snow beat down upon me every time I started a fire, eager to extinguish my only source of heart. I hated snow: snow reminded me of her in life, in death, in love. She loved snow, especially that atop Violet Hill.
I gave up on the fire and sat down by the pack. I swung my legs over the edge of the cliff, looking at the steep fall that would accompany my death if I tumbled over the edge. And I barely cared; the only thing keeping me going was the knowledge that she hated death and sorrow; she wouldn't want me to mourn her.
I carefully slipped her ashes, contained in a jar decorated with beads, out of the pack and by my side. Then I stared at the scene before me: the loping mountains, the snow-topped peaks. They say Violet Hill was the last snow-covered mountain to melt.
As I stared at the snow - snow surrounded me, falling down like rain, packed to the ground like sand, in my clothes and hair like I'd rolled in it - I wondered why she loved Violet Hill so much. Why she made me promise I'd take her once I returned from my travels at sea.
It was beautiful. The snow was like everything I loved and hated at one; it was a bittersweet taste in my mouth, a heart-wrenching pain in my soul. The snow wasn't violet, but it wasn't the first sunset of summer yet, it was the last sunset of Spring. And that sunset, the fading colors melting into the sky, made me want to cry. And the snow, looking almost blue in its pure color, made me want to cry.
***
Violet Hill Lyrics
Was a long and dark December
From the rooftops I remember
There was snow
White snow
Clearly I remember
From the windows they were watching
While we froze
Down below
When the future's architectured
By a carnival of idiots on show
You'd better lie low
If you love me
Won't you let me know?
Was a long and dark December
When the banks became cathedrals
And the fog
Became God
Priests clutched onto bibles
Hollowed out to fit their rifles
And the cross was held aloft
Bury me in armor
When I'm dead and hit the ground
A love back home unfolds
If you love me
Won't you let me know?
I don't want to be a soldier
Who the captain of some sinking ship
Would stow, far below
So if you love me
Why'd you let me go?
I took my love down to Violet Hill
There we sat in snow
All that time she was silent still
So if you love me
Won't you let me know?
If you love me,
Won't you let me know?
When I first listened to that song I kept imagining the girl, his lover, dead. At first he (in my mind) was a man driven insane by his sorrow, and he was at Violet Hill going delusional, imagining she was there and talking to her, though she was dead. But it grew into this story, and I rather like it. :)
No comments:
Post a Comment