My friends are an integral part of who I am. They inform me about me, and vice versa. So i feel like they should be on my blog.
Friends' Writings
By: Daniel Scharmer
Rainbow skies, as I called them. I think that's what I missed the most about the Vineyard. Every other night, my friends and I would go to the same spot on the beach, usually while chowing on clam chowder and lobster, as we watched the slideshow of colors around us. As the setting sun peeked its last rays over the edge of the Earth, and the descending light and the impending dark blended to create the widest spectrum of colors that the eye could behold. Red to violet, and every pigment in between, like a rainbow dome over the Earth. A rainbow sky. Unfortunately, though, those days were gone. Who can see a rainbow when the view is obscured by smog and streetlights? Air and light pollution aside, the sunset wasn't the same when it was setting over bridges and cargo ships. Urban charm? Maybe. But in terms of sunsets, the Vineyard simply was the most divine Cities drove me insane. Faces that all looked the same. Streetlights that changed over and over--green, yellow, red, green, yellow, red--at inconsistent intervals. Bums asking for money at the street corners. Blinding blue sirens illuminating the streets at night. How could you not go crazy? I needed an escape. So much more of the world existed outside of this city. I needed to see something different. A place to see a sunset remotely close in beauty to the glorious glow of the sunset over the ocean. The rainbow sky. Drive north. Somehow it always works. There's always a mountain to the north. Drive north, and you'll slowly feel the elevation raising. Eventually the interstate would get me there. I didn't waste any time. Within minutes I found myself driving on the interstate. Faded white lines. Oversize billboards for hotels and adult superstores, held up by rusted steel. SPEED LIMIT 70. 65 whenever I passed a city large enough to have more than just a few gas stations and streetlights. Honestly, interstate travel sucked. The only thing good about interstate travel is that it makes you more and more excited for the final destination. As suburbs grew larger, more construction, detour, and reduced speed limits signs littered the interstate. It's funny how driving makes you hate the color orange. An hour passed. The towns weren't names anymore. They were nouns. It seemed that the more rural the area gets, the less creative people get with naming the towns. But no worries. It was just an indication that I was getting closer. Sure enough, not two hours later, concrete slabs and telephone lines made way for green hills and pines. The trees were taller, as they had more time and space to grow than the newly planted trees sprawled throughout the city. The road turned into a roller coaster: up a hill, down the hill, up a taller hill, down the hill. The driving worried me, as the road made sudden turns that forced you to brake--that is--assuming you could keep your eyes off the valleys of green dipping below. You could look down and see what would become a wide, commercialized river, but started as a tiny, narrow creek at the bottom of the valley--occasionally having deer, beavers, and even bears bending over the river to drink. I was almost to where I wanted to be. I had exited the interstate almost an hour ago, and was probably the only car on the entire mountain road. This was probably for the best, as my attention was constantly distracted by the greenery and I had a slow reaction to the near 180 degree turns on the road. Just a few more brown signs to go. Eventually one would mark the spot where I would stop. Looking Glass Rock, Chimney Pass, Angel's Overlook...Here I was! Black Balsam, the highest spot in the mountain range, where I could catch that epic sunset that I had driven so diligently for. As I open the car door, I catch a whiff that the fresh, clean mountain air, much different from the polluted, dirty air in the city that made you cough whenever you took a deep breath. The air smelled of flowers, pine, and even the hint of campfire--meaning there may be campers nearby. It was 6:45, only half an hour before sunset. I had to get moving. I pulled out my large hiking boots that I was saving for trips like this. Tied it once, then double tied it. These sorts of hikes required tight and comfy shoes. Off I went, first through a forest that was almost completely dark due to the setting sun, and its looming shadows caused by the thick, leafy branches of the trees. I could barely make out roots and large rocks scattered along the hiking trail. I was careful not to trip, holding onto tree stumps for balance. Finally, I saw a sliver of light just about twenty feet ahead, which I fixed my sight on until I was out of the woods and into the openness of the mountains. I pulled my jacket in tighter. Despite it being the summer, the high elevation caused for chilly air, and I could see my breath as I exhaled. No worries, this sunset would make the whole trip worth it. The path sloped upward very quickly. I found myself using large rocks as stairs, as well as the well-placed logs that someone had conveniently constructed along the trail. The trek was exhausting. After only about five minutes I was exhaling heavily. But I knew I couldn't stop. I had only fifteen minutes before sunset. I came to a narrow part of the trail where the mountain dropped off on both sides. One step too far and I could find myself rolling downhill, probably hitting bushes, sticks, stones, and beehives on the way down. I only focused straight ahead. Looking too long at the earth below would only scare me more. People never seem to lose their fear of heights even as they get older. I could see my spot just a little bit farther up the trail. Just a few more obstacles; a tiny creek I needed to jump over, careful not to land in mud where I could slip, get past a huge, fallen tree that I had to climb over and.... This was it! The spot I had been traveling all day for. It was virtually the highest spot of the hiking trail, and among the highest spot in the whole mountain range. The trail flattened out for a stretch where I could get a panoramic view of all the mountains around me, some just a few miles away, some hundreds of miles away. Luckily, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Just a little bit southwest of my spot, I could look and see the sun gradually descending beyond the mountain range, between two peaks just a few miles away. I had made it just in time. Here came the rainbow sky! The bottom curve of the sun dipped beyond the mountain, and slowly, the color of the entire sky changed. The area around the sun beamed a radiant red, as the entire spectrum formed. As you looked above from where the sun was setting all the way to the opposite end of the horizon, the colors morphed into one another. Red subtly blended with the orange, which blended with the yellow, into a light green, blue, purple, and then culminated into black on the other end of the horizon, which at this point was barred from the sunlight. A rainbow sky. The red around the sunset became brighter and brighter as the sun continued to set, and all the rest of the colors followed the red and the setting sun as the blackness started to take over. The sun was three-quarters set now. The red had almost completely disappeared, with the orange, yellow, and other colors also falling behind the mountains. On the opposite end of the horizon, the moon rose above the peaks. It was going to be a full moon. The last rays of light were fading, and all the colors had virtually disappeared. All that was left was the purplish-black sky that still lingered as day made way for night. The moon was broadening quickly, and would soon be the source of light for all the nighttime creatures. People often try to create beauty. Most common examples of beauty that we experience today are man-made: architecture, makeup, gardens. However, the most awesome form of beauty is nature, something that man could never create himself. This sort of beauty defies natural explanation, and can only be the result of supernatural forces. As I turned to walk back to the car, I realized two things. First, that I didn't bring a flashlight to guide me back. Second, that I was hours away from home. I supposed that sleeping under the starts wasn't such a bad idea.
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