water
ahhh...... the smell of springtime in the midwest! and the subtle sounds of nature along the river...
i wander out of my house to greet the stale stench of moldy fields and sun-baked sludge. squish squish through the sloppy ground and i come to the edge of the river. 100 yards from the bank of the same river. the flooded fields have become home to a dozen beautiful white swans which i have never before spotted in the area. they may be as confused and dumb-founded as i feel. wood ducks and mallard couples skim the surface of the misplaced river water, delighted in the extra surface area on which to frolick and play. overhead i hear the sounds of random other newly-returned avian life conversing with each other about the new topography of the region. the song of one seasonal bird brings back a sting in my chest that drops me out of the moment and sends me to a place that floated away nine years ago. commonly known as the "helicopter", this flying beauty brings with it flashes of the war zone that was 1997 and i stand frozen straining to remember who and what i am today and what i was doing out here in the first place. my feet are damp and cold, my nasal passages are full of mold spores and my real identity is erased for the moment. i have to close my eyes to shake the overwhelming sense of terror and loss. i try to think of 2006 but i am locked. tree tops are barely standing strong and peeking out from the surface of the water. housetops try to stand as a resiliant marker, identifying the location of a warm and safe home, but the rooftops swell and warp under the pressure. others have been forced to give up entirely and succumb to the strength of the mighty river. they uproot and land in the yards of neighbors a few blocks over. traffic signs in a few locations are tall enough to stand as a mockery of themselves. "STOP". not likely. 100-year-old buildings absorb the filth of a sewer system that has long since given up the fight. the fight is futile and we know it. the water eventually recedes, taking with it the evidence of life and history of thousands of people. and we are left with little but stuck images of the tops of things peeking out, staking their geographical claim in a city that might one day heal.
ahhhh spring. i think the next step is the tourists driving slowly and asking random mourners, "where is the really bad damage?" i can't answer a question like that and i want to punch them. the really bad damage comes when voyeurs stroll by to shock themselves with the devastation that belongs to people they don't even know. the really bad damage comes back with the next river that overflows its banks and races through parks and neighborhoods looking for a place to settle. the really bad damage seems to linger. and i had no idea that the damage hadn't been repaired.
i wander out of my house to greet the stale stench of moldy fields and sun-baked sludge. squish squish through the sloppy ground and i come to the edge of the river. 100 yards from the bank of the same river. the flooded fields have become home to a dozen beautiful white swans which i have never before spotted in the area. they may be as confused and dumb-founded as i feel. wood ducks and mallard couples skim the surface of the misplaced river water, delighted in the extra surface area on which to frolick and play. overhead i hear the sounds of random other newly-returned avian life conversing with each other about the new topography of the region. the song of one seasonal bird brings back a sting in my chest that drops me out of the moment and sends me to a place that floated away nine years ago. commonly known as the "helicopter", this flying beauty brings with it flashes of the war zone that was 1997 and i stand frozen straining to remember who and what i am today and what i was doing out here in the first place. my feet are damp and cold, my nasal passages are full of mold spores and my real identity is erased for the moment. i have to close my eyes to shake the overwhelming sense of terror and loss. i try to think of 2006 but i am locked. tree tops are barely standing strong and peeking out from the surface of the water. housetops try to stand as a resiliant marker, identifying the location of a warm and safe home, but the rooftops swell and warp under the pressure. others have been forced to give up entirely and succumb to the strength of the mighty river. they uproot and land in the yards of neighbors a few blocks over. traffic signs in a few locations are tall enough to stand as a mockery of themselves. "STOP". not likely. 100-year-old buildings absorb the filth of a sewer system that has long since given up the fight. the fight is futile and we know it. the water eventually recedes, taking with it the evidence of life and history of thousands of people. and we are left with little but stuck images of the tops of things peeking out, staking their geographical claim in a city that might one day heal.
ahhhh spring. i think the next step is the tourists driving slowly and asking random mourners, "where is the really bad damage?" i can't answer a question like that and i want to punch them. the really bad damage comes when voyeurs stroll by to shock themselves with the devastation that belongs to people they don't even know. the really bad damage comes back with the next river that overflows its banks and races through parks and neighborhoods looking for a place to settle. the really bad damage seems to linger. and i had no idea that the damage hadn't been repaired.
posted by shelly at 4/04/2006 04:13:00 PM
1 Comments:
Uh.... I have had quite the day. First I stumble upon Sara's blog... who I know from the writing project in Forks.... and then through reading some of hers.. I discover YOURS???? My first impulse at reading your name is that I really only know one Shelly and then I think, but does she know Sara??? And then I saw your age... and then I found a pic... and tell me is your birthday the same as mine... :) I haven't talked to you in EONS... How fun to discover your blog. I guess I shouldn't be so surprised, eh?
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