Four attempts to bring the mountains home. Mea looks for a colour that will fit inside her notebook.
I brought a pencil to the mountains, certain that a line would be enough. Before the first bend, the valley had already changed its mind about the light. So I made myself a small task: find one colour I could take home. I had room in the satchel, and an entirely unreasonable faith in my notebook.
Illustrated fiction inspired by original Travel2City photographs. The places come from separate journeys, not a one-day itinerary. Characters, dialogue, props and some composition and lighting are artistic interpretations.
High Tatras
From the broad path, the clouds looked solid enough to step onto. I knew better, but my pencil did not: it kept making a hard boundary where the valley was quietly dissolving. By the time I softened the line, a whole new fold of white had arrived. I shut the notebook for a while. Some things were easier to see without deciding where they ended.
High Tatras
The ridge was more cooperative. At last, something with corners. I settled on a low rock and drew one firm line, then another. A small cloud crossed the rock face and removed the very shadow I had been using. My impressive mountain became a lopsided triangle. I laughed, turned the pencil sideways, and let a patch of grey do what my careful outline could not.
High Tatras
Between the granite slabs, the water held exactly the colour I had wanted: blue with a little gold moving through it. I put the pencil away before it could offer an opinion. A ripple loosened the reflection; then the gold joined itself together again. Nothing had been lost. It was simply refusing to sit for its portrait.
High Tatras
On the way down, I stopped beside the wooden rail. The valley had put on a darker coat, and a pale triangle of mountain still caught the light. In the notebook I had a smudge, a crooked ridge and half an empty page. I nearly filled the space with an explanation. Instead, I closed the cover. There was enough to carry already.
Travel2City journeys continue between the covers of a book. Discover our illustrated travel world.
Discover the book →At home, I opened the notebook beside a cup of tea. The drawing was smaller than I remembered, and much less blue. I left it as it was. For a moment I could hear the little water moving between the stones.
Mea Zen · Colombine MichelangeLove