Fiction Friday: The Ridge At Sunrise

Today’s excerpt, a description, comes from my WIP, the story of a woman who marries into a fairy tale, only to have it splinter around her. This scene comes from the opening of the novel, as she is discovering the beauty of her new home.

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 Outside, the morning hummed with energy. Nicole tucked her hands into her armpits to guard against the morning chill. She stepped onto the flagstone path that wound westward through the rose garden toward the front of the house, the wide lawn where JAZZ vineyards held its private parties sloping away to her right, down to the dusty green mane of forested hills.

She rounded the corner and caught her breath. Here on the western façade of the house, she stood in shadow, looking down over a heavy blanket of fog. Somewhere beneath the undulating whiteness lay endless rows of vines, their leaves unfolding into the coming summer. She leaned on the stone retaining wall and exhaled softly. She knew foggy days in the valley, but it had never occurred to her how beautiful sunrise on the ridges might be. She sat upon an island of emerald amid a sea of fluffy white. The silence, surpassing anything she had ever experienced, hummed around her, a silence so complete that it seemed sentient. She was sure if she closed her eyes and reached out, she would touch the hand of God.

(Photo credit: ah zut, via Flickr)