Certificate of originality
First Encounter
For months you have wanted to take a break from work and everyday life, and recently some friends invited you to vacation with them at their mountain cabin. At first you hesitate. This is not the kind of trip you had in mind. After reconsidering, you realize that a remote getaway with friends is just the change of pace you need.
Now, three weeks later, you have been traveling all day and have just arrived at the cabin. It is late afternoon, and the air is so cold you can see your breath. Your friends welcome you warmly, and there’s a nice fire in the living room. Your hosts show you to your room and give you a short tour. Soon you are all fixing supper together—pasta, mushrooms, salad. During the meal you discuss your work, your zany relatives, and your mutual friends. Everyone is laughing and having a good time. It’s confirmed: coming here was a great idea.
After supper, your friends won’t let you help with the dishes. “I think I’ll go out for a walk,” you say, putting on your heavy, hooded jacket. As the front door closes behind you, you step into a world transformed by twilight.
What strikes you first is the smell in the air. There is nothing quite like the scent of burning wood—almost like incense. It fits perfectly with the chill. You walk farther, beyond the clearing that surrounds the house, and suddenly you are on a path beneath tall pine trees. As a strong breeze rises, the trees make an eerie, whispering sound. It is not exactly a rustle; it is more like a rush. You recall reading once that the sound of wind in pines is the sound of eternity.
Moving on, you find yourself walking along the mountain’s ridge. To your left, you see the evening star against the blueblack sky. To your right, it’s still light and you see why you are cold: you are literally above the clouds. You sit down on a flat rock, pull up your hood, and watch the pine tree silhouettes disappear as darkness spreads its thickening veil.
It’s difficult to
For months you have wanted to take a break from work and everyday life, and recently some friends invited you to vacation with them at their mountain cabin. At first you hesitate. This is not the kind of trip you had in mind. After reconsidering, you realize that a remote getaway with friends is just the change of pace you need.
Now, three weeks later, you have been traveling all day and have just arrived at the cabin. It is late afternoon, and the air is so cold you can see your breath. Your friends welcome you warmly, and there’s a nice fire in the living room. Your hosts show you to your room and give you a short tour. Soon you are all fixing supper together—pasta, mushrooms, salad. During the meal you discuss your work, your zany relatives, and your mutual friends. Everyone is laughing and having a good time. It’s confirmed: coming here was a great idea.
After supper, your friends won’t let you help with the dishes. “I think I’ll go out for a walk,” you say, putting on your heavy, hooded jacket. As the front door closes behind you, you step into a world transformed by twilight.
What strikes you first is the smell in the air. There is nothing quite like the scent of burning wood—almost like incense. It fits perfectly with the chill. You walk farther, beyond the clearing that surrounds the house, and suddenly you are on a path beneath tall pine trees. As a strong breeze rises, the trees make an eerie, whispering sound. It is not exactly a rustle; it is more like a rush. You recall reading once that the sound of wind in pines is the sound of eternity.
Moving on, you find yourself walking along the mountain’s ridge. To your left, you see the evening star against the blueblack sky. To your right, it’s still light and you see why you are cold: you are literally above the clouds. You sit down on a flat rock, pull up your hood, and watch the pine tree silhouettes disappear as darkness spreads its thickening veil.
It’s difficult to