Natural Beauty

• Jo Eaton, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2013

The reeds bow down as the warm wind plays a serenade to the majestic river. Even the regal deer bend their heads to drink quietly from its sand speckled banks. The old swamp gums, whose leaf clad limbs arch high over the cobalt blue water, watch on indifferently as the water lurks persistently around their roots, demanding that due attention be paid. Having seen the river mature from a slow trickle of liquid that braved the mountainous terrain to the force of nature it has become, the ancient gums no longer contemplate its fate, instead choosing to ponder their own destiny as their gnarly, blemished trunks battle with the consequences of time.
The sun looks on jealously; but its harsh light falls dappled and harmless onto the water's rippling surface. Dragonflies dart in and out of the envious rays, collecting rainbows on their wings. Hungry fish wait greedily below ready to devour any that get too close to the water's surface. Streamlined swallows glide in and out of view, chasing their insect prey.
A cold laugh erupts from the canopy, mocking the skink that was either courageous or imprudent enough to venture out of its leaf litter abode. The beating of wings is the only thing to be heard apart from the amused gurgling of the river as it cascades over as small rock fall. The steep, stony embankment that guards the river's southern side has become the victim on many occasions to the water's sudden fury. The willows brave enough to seed on the opposite bank are few and far between, but those that took the risk have fared well for their gamble. Their healthy, knotted trunks sprouting long, spindly limbs over the water, collecting in their foliage all the treasures the river has collected on its journey through the hills.
Soft, curled ferns clutter the ground a respectable distance away, soaking in the meagre sunlight that is presented to them. Wildflowers blossom with vibrant colours, their sweet smell permeating the air. Plump bumblebees hover over the flowers, able to be meticulous with such an abundant supply.
The coarse sand coating the river bank is cratered with the prints of wallabies seeking the cool mountain water in the evening, and the nocturnal endeavours of a mother fox whose den remains unfound in the protective roots of a red gum, a mere stone throw away from the waterline. This tranquil place is not frequented often by the humans that would threaten her cubs but their safety remains a colossal concern. The overgrown track gives testament to the place's isolation; with ferns and eucalypts alike encroaching on the path that has already been consumed by a myriad of grasses. They do not do so for nought. They seek a way to close themselves off from the destructive beings that have already murdered their sisters on the far side of the mountain range and laid waste to the land. Guarded by the rocky mountains that enclose their little stretch of forest, they pursue a dream that would leave them untouched by human hands. The last morsel of beauty in a metal world.