The River Flows
Solemnly a long, oily river barge dredges down river leaving a trail of scummy residue in the already discolored water. On board an obese captain eats from a cellophane wrapper which is nonchalantly tossed overboard. On the banks the multi-colored ducks search for food just below the murky surface. Diving their heads down between the somewhat evenly disbursed trash on the river bed, they seem content and pleasantly pacified. The river at first glance isn't a very pretty sight. Its beauty is hidden quite well, but if you look at it from my perspective you'll see its true beauty.
As my eyes drifted from the ripples in the water to the tree tops to the huge bridge that stretches across the river, I thought of how the trees surrounded the entire river except for the area where the ducks and I were. It seemed as if we were the only ones permitted to look upon the river as it flowed by, uncaring of anything or anyone around it.
Walking along the river bank, hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets, head hanging down, looking over my left shoulder I noticed that the ducks were following me. They seemed to be interested in my destination. Slowly I began to pick up my pace because I felt guilty about not having any bread crumbs to give them, as I did the last time I visited them.
Breaking into a quick trot I sought shelter beneath a huge shade tree on the bank. It had just started to sprinkle tiny little rain drips that would hit the water and make seemingly never ending ripples. With my arms folded in a relaxed manner, I directed my attention to the huge columns holding up the massive bridge that connects Ashland, Kentucky to Ironton, Ohio.
The bridge that stretches across the river, although awesome in itself, seems to get its support from the river. To the river the bridge seems to be a distraction; the river notices only that the bridge is a structure created to make crossing the river easier. It doesn't mind the obstruction because it can flow around it. On that particular day the river seemed to be a docile force only concerned for itself and the direction in which it was flowing.
Tired of standing, I took a seat on one of the tree roots sticking out of the ground. It was terribly uncomfortable. I noticed that the rain had all but stopped, so I moved to a concrete formation right next to the river's edge. From there I got a better view of the river in relation to the trees, the bridge, and the ducks. What I saw was a beautiful relationship between something man made and mother nature's wonderful creations.
Taking a deep breath, inhaling the cool October air, I found myself searching for truths, for connection, for answers. I wanted so much to be a part of the natural relationship between these two totally different creations. I saw a beauty that no one else could see. Looking out over the whole scene, seeing what most people overlook, I saw the beauty of the river beneath the pollution, dirt, and grime.
As I walked away, a heavy thump in my chest, feet uncomfortable with the terrain, I looked back over my shoulder. I had a feeling that I knew what I was about to see. Yes, that warm feeling came over me again, the same one I felt when I had first seen the true beauty of the river, which is its strength, to let us know that even though we see ourselves apart man and nature are one.
— Latonia Horne, English 101, Fall, 1991
SYMPHONY FROM THE SKY
Softly, as if with hardly any noise at all, the drops of rain started to fall. Down, down, down, almost in a rhythmically rhythm, they fell from the ever so dark and gloomy clouds. Drip, drip, drip, in almost a lazy, steady rhythm the drops landed on a leaf close to my ear. Drip, drip, drip. Another, then another, ever so softly almost as if playing a symphony for me personally. As I stood there in the middle of the thick, dense woods, I let myself relax and enjoy the almost hypnotic overture that was being played as if for me only. More drops of rain hit more leaves around me, each one with its own sound. My eyes were closed, and my face was upturned to the sky as I continued to listen intently to more of the music that was being orchestrated to me.
The thickly, over crowed trees, that were so full of leaves, almost made an umbrella to protect me from the worst of the rain that was falling. Softly and almost strategically a few drops would slide through, and onto my face they would land. Cold and wet the rain drops fell on my forehead, down my checks and to my ears, almost creating a somewhat tickling filling. A laugh escaped my lips which were by now moist from the rain.
As I stood there, unable, and most of all unwilling, to move, I heard a sound coming from my throat and between my lips. I had found myself humming to the music the rain was composing as it hit each leaf, rock, and the ground to make its own sound. Suddenly, without warning, a flash of lightning broke through the densely crowed trees, as if to bring me back to the human world. I opened my eyes, the wind started to blow fearfully and chillingly around me. Then another flash of lightning broke through the trees again, then again, each one more brilliant than the last one. So suddenly had the hypnotic symphony turned so wild and so loud. It was almost as if to awaken the whole world to its music.
Boom! Crack! The orchestra went, like cymbals hit together with all their might. Then another flash lit the sky, one more brilliantly than the last one. More rumbles of thunder sounded, closer and closer, quicker and quicker as the concerto played on. Then just as suddenly as it had started, it begun to slow down, getting softer and longer between flashes. The storm was moving on, perhaps to another place to perform more of its eloquently composed and mesmerizing symphony.
Drip, drip, drip slower and slower the orchestra played. Fainter and fainter it became, as it slowly and lazily moved on to another part of the world. As I stood there, in the middle of the deeply, dense and now wet forest, I realized that not only should one take time to "Stop to smell the roses" but also take time to" listen to the sounds" that nature can create even through something as fearsome as a storm. There is beauty in all that goes on around us. Just take the time to look, smell and listen with your heart and an open mind.
— Teresa Pack, English 101, Spring, 1993
The Party's Over!
With the final blow of the referee's whistle and a loud roar from the crowd, the Super Bowl was over. Football season was over. And, most importantly, the Super Bowl party was over! Now all of my husband's drunken friends could drag themselves up off of my couch and get the hell out of my house.
Finally, they were gone, and I was left to clean up the mess. I found the remote control hidden under a cushion on the love seat and switched the television off. In the silence I could hear a faint snore coming from the bedroom, and I knew that my husband was already fast asleep.
I started with the living room, picking up the empty beer bottles that had dripped their last drops of smelly liquid onto my beautiful new mauve carpeting. I opened the windows, hoping the cool January air would blow in and clear out the stench of four hours worth of cigarette smoke. Our guests must not have noticed the ash trays I had placed all around the room because I kept finding small piles of ashes on the floor. Dragging the vacuum cleaner out of the closet, I hoped that the ashes wouldn't leave a stain. The soft hum of the vacuum cleaner gave way to the crunching, crackling sound of potato chips being sucked out from under the coffee table. Lifting the couch cushions to see if any chips had been lost there, I found instead a partially eaten buffalo wing. The gooey red barbecue sauce left a sticky stain on my soft blue upholstery. Picking up an empty chip bag and wiping away a nasty grayish-white glob of onion dip from the end table, I made my way toward the kitchen.
In the kitchen I began rounding up the empty paper plates and piling them into the already overflowing garbage can. The serving dishes on the table were empty except for the last crumbs of food. I put the dishes in the sink to let the sticky sauces and dried up bean dip soak off of them. Going back to wash the table, I noticed a nasty glob of smelly dip had been dripped in one of the chairs. I cleaned the chairs and scrubbed the food from the table. Having let the dishes soak a while, I put them in the dishwasher. I drained the water out of the huge empty cooler that stood in the middle of the kitchen and took it downstairs. The kitchen done, I made my way down the hall towards the bedroom.
Walking down the hallway, I noticed the light on in the guest bathroom. The repugnant odor coming from the cracked door told me that I did not want to be the one to clean this room. As I walked into the room, my eyes confirmed what my nose and queasy stomach had already sensed. Someone had lost their lunch all over the floor and had not made any attempt to hide it. I quickly opened a window and turned on the exhaust fan to air the room out, and pulled on my rubber cleaning gloves to clean up this nasty mess that some inconsiderate fool had left for me.
My house clean and disinfected: I could finally go to bed. But first I had to wake my husband to inform him that he would not be having any more parties in my house.
— Jan Moore, English 101, Spring 1993
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