I'm sorry that your best days have passed.
I'm sorry that I'm wasting my youth.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
Midnight Oil
The decision was final. It was time for war.
It had gotten to the boiling point. I don’t think sitting back and taking it was an option anymore. Our community was fairly small, but it was shrinking. The landscapes that we once roamed were slowly disappearing and we had had enough.
We are not predators, but we are sly. That is how we won a lot of our battles. The generations that came before ours used to gather in an open plain to discuss general community decisions. So that was were we decided to make ours.
Unfortunately, this area had been overcrowded by the ones that were pushing us out. From the time the sun came up until the time it went down, they stalked this area. When we watched from a distance it seemed like they were mocking us. But we are creatures of the night.
So we decided to have our meeting in that open plain and at night. We ran there like thieves in the shadows. Everyone agreed that a war was inevitable. We started preparing.
It was early November, the time of year when the trees are burning and the ground is on fire. It has been the same in this area for years. Everything is so colorful in the fall. It’s like the plants are giving one last show before they die.
This year was different. Instead of vibrant colors, everything was cold. Everything was brown and gray. The leaves just died and fell. The trees were naked and unforgiving.
As we prepared for our attack the sun was going down. On the night of the revolution we fell like dead leaves. We turned brown and died.
William Wallace
Coming soon... "The Difference Between Rain and Snow"
It had gotten to the boiling point. I don’t think sitting back and taking it was an option anymore. Our community was fairly small, but it was shrinking. The landscapes that we once roamed were slowly disappearing and we had had enough.
We are not predators, but we are sly. That is how we won a lot of our battles. The generations that came before ours used to gather in an open plain to discuss general community decisions. So that was were we decided to make ours.
Unfortunately, this area had been overcrowded by the ones that were pushing us out. From the time the sun came up until the time it went down, they stalked this area. When we watched from a distance it seemed like they were mocking us. But we are creatures of the night.
So we decided to have our meeting in that open plain and at night. We ran there like thieves in the shadows. Everyone agreed that a war was inevitable. We started preparing.
It was early November, the time of year when the trees are burning and the ground is on fire. It has been the same in this area for years. Everything is so colorful in the fall. It’s like the plants are giving one last show before they die.
This year was different. Instead of vibrant colors, everything was cold. Everything was brown and gray. The leaves just died and fell. The trees were naked and unforgiving.
As we prepared for our attack the sun was going down. On the night of the revolution we fell like dead leaves. We turned brown and died.
William Wallace
Coming soon... "The Difference Between Rain and Snow"
Friday, November 7, 2008
The Woodwork
wood·work
n
1. U.K. See woodworking n.
2. items made from wood: items or components made from wood, especially the interior parts of a building, for example, the frames of windows, staircases, and doors
What started out as a promising day turned into a disappointing one pretty quick. Three of us traveled down a beaten path to a little spot off of the river where kids jumped off the water fall and took turns on the rope swing.
We were obviously not the only ones with that idea on this particular day. It was mid-summer and out of the three I was the only one who was a repeat visitor. We were all pretty excited to take what would have been a pretty blasé summer day and turn it into something of an adventure.
We made our way down to the creek and walked over to where the rope swing had been. The tree had been cut down far enough to where the rope that hung on the branch was irrelevant. The wood was scraped and torn and I actually kind of felt bad for the tree. It was once useful and adequate but was cut down to a size that made it extremely ineffective. We all jumped off of the waterfall once. I went first due to my prior experience. The other two jumped off as well in front of a small audience. Once another crowd of people wandered down to the river we decided to make our way to the bridge and abandoned factory.
Wandering down a not so beaten path, the voices of three nineteen year olds reverberated off of the surrounding wood. After a couple of minutes we made it to our destination. The bridge was higher than the waterfall and the water underneath was definitely more polluted, and although I had made the jump before, the unanimous decision was to just walk across the bridge. We crossed the bridge leaving foot marks on the wood panels. We explored the outskirts of the factory, then ventured inside. The weakest link of our little brigade was paranoid about getting caught so we didn’t stay very long.
Whispering to each other, the decision was made to head back to the bridge. Once we got there we noticed that the sun was starting to go down so we started our march back to the car. The parking lot we left the car in belonged to a state park so we just decided to take the designated trail back.
Walking along the trail we reminisced about high school stories and glories. It started to get a little darker, and I started to get a little claustrophobic. I felt like the trail was closing in on us. The wood that earlier seemed so inviting started to look a lot more threatening.
Woodwork - crawl or come out of the woodwork to appear suddenly and unexpectedly in large numbers (slang)
What seemed like an hour passed. The look of concern started to set on each of our faces. With confidence I told them that the parking lot was just up ahead, but the night was also setting in. Within minutes, the last gasping breath of light was squeezed out of the woods and our lungs. It was dark.
We used our cell phones to provide light. The trail was gone and underneath our soaked feet was nothing but confusion and emptiness. It’s hard to find comfort when your comfort zone has been ripped away. They say every photograph tells a story. We weren’t taking pictures.
Without any direction, we marched on as soldiers do. They came out of the woodwork. We couldn’t see ourselves surrounded but we knew it because we stopped in unison. Fear quickly replaced confusion as the emotion that gripped us. It froze us. I thought this was the end of our journey. A voice said to us “The next time you open your mouths don’t let words come out. Are you proud?” The question hit home harder than a hook from Mike Tyson. I wasn’t proud, so I remained silent. I knew the answer was the same for my two friends because no words were left hanging.
Weakened knees and cold hands intact, we continued to march after this faceless crowd dispersed. It became day again. We kept marching. The sun set. We kept marching. Our cell phones died. We kept marching. The trail reappeared. We kept marching and marching and marching. And instead of being afraid or hungry or tired or thirsty I felt nothing but inspiration.
We finally made it back to the car. In real time the walk was only an hour. But our cell phones were dead. And there were no photographs. And we left our pride splattered across the wood. And we had nothing to say and nothing to think so our mouths stayed closed and our minds stayed empty.
William "Braveheart" Wallace
"Midnight Oil" coming soon.
n
1. U.K. See woodworking n.
2. items made from wood: items or components made from wood, especially the interior parts of a building, for example, the frames of windows, staircases, and doors
What started out as a promising day turned into a disappointing one pretty quick. Three of us traveled down a beaten path to a little spot off of the river where kids jumped off the water fall and took turns on the rope swing.
We were obviously not the only ones with that idea on this particular day. It was mid-summer and out of the three I was the only one who was a repeat visitor. We were all pretty excited to take what would have been a pretty blasé summer day and turn it into something of an adventure.
We made our way down to the creek and walked over to where the rope swing had been. The tree had been cut down far enough to where the rope that hung on the branch was irrelevant. The wood was scraped and torn and I actually kind of felt bad for the tree. It was once useful and adequate but was cut down to a size that made it extremely ineffective. We all jumped off of the waterfall once. I went first due to my prior experience. The other two jumped off as well in front of a small audience. Once another crowd of people wandered down to the river we decided to make our way to the bridge and abandoned factory.
Wandering down a not so beaten path, the voices of three nineteen year olds reverberated off of the surrounding wood. After a couple of minutes we made it to our destination. The bridge was higher than the waterfall and the water underneath was definitely more polluted, and although I had made the jump before, the unanimous decision was to just walk across the bridge. We crossed the bridge leaving foot marks on the wood panels. We explored the outskirts of the factory, then ventured inside. The weakest link of our little brigade was paranoid about getting caught so we didn’t stay very long.
Whispering to each other, the decision was made to head back to the bridge. Once we got there we noticed that the sun was starting to go down so we started our march back to the car. The parking lot we left the car in belonged to a state park so we just decided to take the designated trail back.
Walking along the trail we reminisced about high school stories and glories. It started to get a little darker, and I started to get a little claustrophobic. I felt like the trail was closing in on us. The wood that earlier seemed so inviting started to look a lot more threatening.
Woodwork - crawl or come out of the woodwork to appear suddenly and unexpectedly in large numbers (slang)
What seemed like an hour passed. The look of concern started to set on each of our faces. With confidence I told them that the parking lot was just up ahead, but the night was also setting in. Within minutes, the last gasping breath of light was squeezed out of the woods and our lungs. It was dark.
We used our cell phones to provide light. The trail was gone and underneath our soaked feet was nothing but confusion and emptiness. It’s hard to find comfort when your comfort zone has been ripped away. They say every photograph tells a story. We weren’t taking pictures.
Without any direction, we marched on as soldiers do. They came out of the woodwork. We couldn’t see ourselves surrounded but we knew it because we stopped in unison. Fear quickly replaced confusion as the emotion that gripped us. It froze us. I thought this was the end of our journey. A voice said to us “The next time you open your mouths don’t let words come out. Are you proud?” The question hit home harder than a hook from Mike Tyson. I wasn’t proud, so I remained silent. I knew the answer was the same for my two friends because no words were left hanging.
Weakened knees and cold hands intact, we continued to march after this faceless crowd dispersed. It became day again. We kept marching. The sun set. We kept marching. Our cell phones died. We kept marching. The trail reappeared. We kept marching and marching and marching. And instead of being afraid or hungry or tired or thirsty I felt nothing but inspiration.
We finally made it back to the car. In real time the walk was only an hour. But our cell phones were dead. And there were no photographs. And we left our pride splattered across the wood. And we had nothing to say and nothing to think so our mouths stayed closed and our minds stayed empty.
William "Braveheart" Wallace
"Midnight Oil" coming soon.
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