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My descriptive a place is describing a place I have walked into when travelling in Western Norway.
After a long journey through the endless winding untrodden road surrounded by hillsides of stone and trees, fortunately my family and I at last arrived at our dwelling before the sun set. Previously, I was not aware of this, but now I know that this was I was waiting for, ever since I started noticing the beauty of this fabulous place. There I stood in the late, fading summer in Western Norway. It was a rather damp misty day with relatively insufficient, debilitating sunlight. Perhaps this was because of the thin mist. As I turned my head sideways and glanced though the cold haze, which seemed as if the cosmic blanket of sheer obscuring white covering the entire hill, I was able to capture a single golden leaf spiralling down with a help of a slight breeze, then another leaf followed by another, dancing and pirouetting through the invisible air as it let itself be gently carried down like a delicate move of an elegant ballerina. Those smooth movements of the leaves and the slight cold, yet mild and clement autumn breeze was tousling my hair as if it was trying to indicate that one of the temperate season is just around the corner.
As the lightest of mists cleared away over time, my view of this place seemed to have secured, allowing me to catch a sight of the spectacular scenery I have never seen in my entire life. First thing that caught my eye was the beauty of the surrounding mountain range stretched across the horizon. The immense sky-piercing peaks of the mountains made us seem small; the peaks of the mountains wore an icy crown as if in an attempt to display its peacockery. It sored upwards as if it determined to touch the heaven. The only thing that surpassed the mountain’s grandeur and the magnanimity was the blue sky. As I continued capturing a picture of the panorama of this unutterable beauty of the landscape, I noticed how the tips of the mountains were clustered together to bear a resemblance to one’s sharp teeth; it was a white-grey fanged mountain.
Stood there silently looking upwards I realised that once in a while, the red, orange and brown foliage in the trees swished and rustled in the light breeze with the soft crinkling sound of the weak branches from the limbs of the trees in the far distance – this place was ominously quiet, allowing not even a small twittering of a bird or single footstep to be misheard. Searching the place where sounds came from, I saw how the mountain was drenched in the sunlight, exposing the vibrant colours of nature. Each colours of mild red, light apricot orange, blazing brown, bright Persian and olive green had blended with one another creating a perfect harmony with the nature; every single colours were like a subtle watercolour wash over a pencil drawing. The multitude of time-chiselled trees were huddled together, each glowing brightly by the illuminating sunlight playing a significant role in making the brilliant picturesque scene.
From the rocky surface of the mountain there is a path of rock outcrops where crystal clear water cascaded down surprisingly maintaining its tranquillity. It is fragile, yet delicate like an elusive sweep of a painter’s brush. It quietly but sneakily slithers past all the coarse rocks and obstacles like a snake. However, as it had drawn closer to the very edge of the cliff, it rumbled and growled like a ferocious beast and soon the weak tranquil stream of water turned into a deafening waterfall which arced into the air, hovering briefly, and raced angrily to the bottom, but glistening as the sun shone upon it creating a curtain of white water as it fell down. Despite the severely fluctuating nature of the stream, mountain is silently stood back, maintaining its dignity and strength.
The western Norwegian river, often called as the ‘Fjord’ of Norway, is truly beautiful compared to any other rivers in the world. The turquoise blue narrow glacier-molten stream of crystal clear river with steep mountains in between lies in smooth curves. The water moves deceptively swift and strong. While I was amazed by the beautiful scenery, I noticed that time has passed rapidly and the sun setting down already; it was an example of a ‘golden hour’. Sunlight had changed its colour from yellow to golden orange. A fiery ball in the sky illuminated the moving river, dying everything in gold, reflecting its light off the surface of the river and a beam of glowing light emerged on the horizon of the Fjord river. This open field of view allowed me to feel the sense of liberation. Such a comforting place it was underneath the warm mesmerising sunshine in front of the fascinating nature. Soon the colours faded from golden orange to majestic purple and finally, the sun disappeared down the horizon along with its shine.
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