December Revelation

 

I was not able to take a picture because I was driving, but allow me a moment to try and paint one:

 As Sariah and I headed out in this morning, a puffy blanket of rainbow sherbet stretched across the sky to the east. Directly above the sky was clear and light gray—just another Tuesday waiting for the sun to emerge from behind the orange and raspberry comforter. To the west, a darker smattering of gray clouds stretched across a bluish backdrop, a promise of cold to come.

We headed east, directly toward the only light part of the sky. I grumbled internally at the prospect of sun glare, a real problem depending on what time we get out of the house each morning. Before we had left the house 200 yards behind, the light suddenly dimmed, leaving the entire sky ambivalent shades of gray. A couple of rogue snowflakes skirted across the windshield before blowing away to join their co-conspirators, who were already taunting other motorists.I resigned myself to a cold, blustery Midwestern December day, when I Suddenly spotted a vertical rainbow column to the north. I rubbed my eyes at the stoplight to see if my eyes were being ornery, but, no, there was an actual stripe of many colors extending from the ground up into the sky, almost clear and pale blue now, with the clouds blowing eastward.

The randomization of the Apple Play brought up the haunting opening chords of the “Top Gun Anthem” as the light turned green and we headed east again. We drove without conversation, both of us tired and not quite ready to face the day. With uncanny timing, as we crested the highest hill on our daily commute, the guitar riff screeched its climax, the clouds opened, and the sun blazed its crepuscular rays through gaps of the remaining cottony wisps, color-soaking everything in a brilliant, burning orange. God definitely know show to make an entrance! ...or at least He knows how to remind me of His goodness. And even though by the time the song ended, the sun had disappeared again and the swirling snow had picked up, ushering us along the cold pavement, my gray attitude toward the day and the weather, and the drudgery of going to work had dissipated. He touched my life for a moment, letting me know He was still there.

 

Rattlesnake Falls

This episode comes by way of teaching my students to use tangible details to establish setting.  They also wanted to know if I had ever had an encounter with a dangerous animal.  And here you have both:

My legs needed some space; sixteen-year-olds do not belong with two brothers in the back seat of a minivan.  Even after I would push one of them under the seat so I could spread out a smidgen, the overflow of luggage that spilled from the back invaded my space.

The constant droning of the siblings didn't make the journey any easier.  The family had been on the road for a few days, driving from Illinois down to Arkansas and back up through Missouri.  We had already traveled five or six hours that day, heading for Lake of the Ozarks to relax and get away and enjoy the outdoors.  However, getting away from the sweaty, stickiness hanging in the air seemed impossible.  I was bored and sweaty.  My Discman batteries had died.  Reading was not an option.  Midwestern stuffiness killed the air conditioner’s attempt to circulate.  The aftertaste of Funyuns kicking around created a new-found carsick tendency deep inside my abdomen.  The corn chipness that was David’s feet only made it worse.  The overripe wad of watermelon Bubbalicious that Nicole smacked didn't help either; she reminded me of the countless farms of cud-chewers we had passed along the way.

The four Mountain Dew refills from lunch at Taco Bell (Toxic Hell) started to take their toll.  I wasn't sure how much more I could take.  My innards bounced up and down wooded hills, around hidden curves; the drive continued.  On and on.  And on.  And on.  My bladder and my stomach both called dibs on blowing first.

And then Dad stopped unexpectedly, pulling onto a little gravel shoulder overlooking a narrow, green valley in the middle of a somewhat rocky deciduous forest.  Without hesitating, I ripped off my seat belt and yanked open the side door, leaving vacation exploded in my wake.  I could breathe again.  Sure, I was drinking the humidity in gulps, and I was perspiring like a fat man in a sauna, but at least it was clean air.

I decided to give myself some space—and privacy—so I hobbled through the woods to the edge of an outcropping.  A shallow gorge lay in front of me.  Without the urgency and pressure I felt and more time to explore, I would have jumped the six or seven feet to the bottom, but as it was, nature was calling, and refused to leave a message.

The relief was instantaneous.  Taking my time, taking a leak, I took in the surroundings that I hadn't noticed before: insects hummed, birds sang, a large afternoon thunderhead rolled in.  As I finished up my business, zipped, and turned to leave, I thought I heard something coming from the gully.  A scratching sound like twigs dragged through leaves.

Standing from where I had just whizzed, I glanced down and saw my puddle.  Then I froze.  Three thick feet of the back end of a timber rattlesnake slowly slithered away from the wetness and under the jagged rocks I happened to be standing on.  My eyes followed the body, abundant as a Hickory Farms summer sausage, its dark gray and black and brown diamonds tapering down its tail as it disappeared from sight.  Not quite six feet directly below me.

The shiver did not come from the oncoming storm winds, nor did it arise from the raindrops that stared to fall.  The heebie jeebies full-on raced up my right leg, spasmed me silly, and sped down the left.  My body streaked to the van, more than content to be confined in its restrictive space.  I still shudder whenever I think of how close that reptile slithered without me knowing it.

However, it wasn't until I read an early draft of this to a seventh grade class, that what I had inadvertently done hit me: “Mr. Anson, you really peed on a rattlesnake?”

Apparently I had.

"Night"

Okay. So I'm not getting any help. Oh, well. Thanks anyway. I've got a few ideas that I'd like to try, but first I need to obviously start writing more. I'm thinking about taking a short intro that I ave and trying to work it as a serial. My friend Bartley has been doing that on his blog, and I'm inspired. Good on you, my friend. But in the meantime, here's another piece I dug up from ages past. I wrote this (or its first stages) in my 12th grade creative writing class. It was an imitation of style exercise, but I forget what the original piece was. If it sounds familiar to any of you, please let me know.

"Night"

I pause to rest, leaning against a graying hedge, crudely forged from loose stone and clay. From this familiar crest, I have frequently gazed across the silent valley below, and into the night. But never in my previous journeying across this knoll has nature’s simplicity struck such a chord with my soul as it does now; in wonderment, in awe, I fall entranced by its somber spirituality. I feel the wind on my neck; my soul shivers, stirring my passions. The perception of a lifeless, gray world begins to unfold itself before my eyes, a realm where darkness and light exchange perspectives in their elements, harmonizing, becoming one.

And in the midst of this simple sanctuary I see a grove; the sturdy oak, durable as time and more rugged than man, gathers in the cold and embraces the gentle silence. A dull moon glistens through the treetops and administers additional solemnity upon the melancholic land. In the distance, mountains without shape silhouette the sky, romanticized by the mystic moonlight. From this corner of the darkness, the light magnificently reigns over the earth. Reflecting its radiance from the serenity of the still, black water before me, the moon purifies this realm of darkness, cleansing it from evil, mystifying the grayness.

Nature beckons, yearning to share its light, its darkness. The winds, breathing tranquility across my face, kissing my eyelashes, usher a gray patchwork across the heavens, sheltering the fragile light of the moon. Unveiling her lady briefly and then tucking her away again, the night integrates reality and innocence wholly and flawlessly as to encompass all shades of emotion: light and dark, good and evil, love and hate; all blend within the shadows of my mind.

And this is how I see the night. I have experienced every aspect of its enchanted playground and felt its deepest secrets. I always see it from the darkest shadow, a world of mystery, frozen until the morning comes, like a dense fog at midnight, a cold blanket covering the earth. And suddenly, the howl of a wolf – a sustaining note – musical and harmonized with the orchestral chords of the night owl, of singing crickets, and the rhythm of the rustling foliage breaks through the silence – this first note of the darkness lingers in my mind. It casts an everlasting calmness that shines mysteriously through the despair of my soul, lustrous and enchanting, like the moon dissipating night’s disconsolate shadows.


One year I used this in my creative writing class (that I teach) as an example of over-the-top description. A week later one of the other English teachers in the building brought in an "amazingly brilliant" piece of 'student work.' The teacher noticed that this student was in my class ad wondered if she had written anything else like it. Moral of the story: don;t plagiarize your teacher's work, even if he doesn't consider it all that or even half a bag of chips. How's that for awesome?

P.S. I'm still looking for reviews--good examples for students. See the post dated March 8 for details.