X-Posted: Descriptive Essay for Advanced Comp. (A good excuse to update)
Looks Just Like The Sun
My phone chimes. To much surprise, it’s Kari. Odd… haven’t spoken with her since our spring golf outing. Evading my hosts, I step out onto the small slight gray stoop. Among the usual banter that constitutes ‘catch up’, she stops, contemplates, and conjures devastatingly potent: “I’ve been offered two teaching positions: one here in Lavonia, another in-well, Oklahoma.” Intricate tangled circumstance-threatening. I pause and shuffle antique moments, thoughts, dialogue… (He perceives, but does not comprehend.)
The call ends and I step back. The precession march is long and arduous. I begin to drift.
After burning our desired musical stylings, we trekked up to Lansing, surfed the interstate and moseyed the M-routes. Before we knew it, we were at Jess’ father’s cabin.
The cabin, set about 10 minutes out of the town of Ludington, sat itself a good portion back from the old country road. The gate was barely recognizable; luckily, an ailing and abused Chevy Lumina marked the entrance. We wound around the hairpin turns and rested just shy of the immense garage. The cabin was impressive: a golden-pine behemoth perched amongst the ancient forestry. Elemental-it even featured an outhouse. All was well, but in all due respect, land is only about a quarter of the Earth’s surface. It was time for a majority vote. I noted the failing Sun.
“So this is it. It doesn’t even look real… how can this be real!?”, I complain annoyingly. “I know. I love this place.” Silenced, we look out onto the blue-white laced surf. I swear, it didn’t look real; perhaps generated by a gray box humming lullabies, but not by nature. Nature couldn’t be this beautiful. The star began to die as its reflection in the water presented its epitaph. Picturesque.
A long night of pictures in motion entertained the evening’s remainder. The indulgence aggravated our sleep and step, yet we dared not yield-besides, it was now a pitch-perfect Saturday afternoon.
The beach beckoned. We answered. I was wearing ill-fated trunks that wouldn’t be appropriate for a public beach. This had to be fixed. Purchases ensued.
We reached our destination. The beach peppered flawless; the water crystal pristine, chilled with a high concentration of slower particles less the warm current. Privacy was pirated; we commandeered huge real estate, ripe for soccer and Frisbee. Hesitant but willing, I began to wade its depths and challenge its dimensions. A dead fish scraped across my leg-I immediately headed back.
The sand swallowed me up and served the Sun’s warmth. I was grateful.
I am grateful.
“Grateful for what?” chimes Julie the inquisitive hostess. “N-Nothing. Hah, sorry. I had a call is all. What’s for dinner?”
________________________________________
Critical Writing was cancelled today. A thousand hallalujas.
Today will be a good day.
My phone chimes. To much surprise, it’s Kari. Odd… haven’t spoken with her since our spring golf outing. Evading my hosts, I step out onto the small slight gray stoop. Among the usual banter that constitutes ‘catch up’, she stops, contemplates, and conjures devastatingly potent: “I’ve been offered two teaching positions: one here in Lavonia, another in-well, Oklahoma.” Intricate tangled circumstance-threatening. I pause and shuffle antique moments, thoughts, dialogue… (He perceives, but does not comprehend.)
The call ends and I step back. The precession march is long and arduous. I begin to drift.
After burning our desired musical stylings, we trekked up to Lansing, surfed the interstate and moseyed the M-routes. Before we knew it, we were at Jess’ father’s cabin.
The cabin, set about 10 minutes out of the town of Ludington, sat itself a good portion back from the old country road. The gate was barely recognizable; luckily, an ailing and abused Chevy Lumina marked the entrance. We wound around the hairpin turns and rested just shy of the immense garage. The cabin was impressive: a golden-pine behemoth perched amongst the ancient forestry. Elemental-it even featured an outhouse. All was well, but in all due respect, land is only about a quarter of the Earth’s surface. It was time for a majority vote. I noted the failing Sun.
“So this is it. It doesn’t even look real… how can this be real!?”, I complain annoyingly. “I know. I love this place.” Silenced, we look out onto the blue-white laced surf. I swear, it didn’t look real; perhaps generated by a gray box humming lullabies, but not by nature. Nature couldn’t be this beautiful. The star began to die as its reflection in the water presented its epitaph. Picturesque.
A long night of pictures in motion entertained the evening’s remainder. The indulgence aggravated our sleep and step, yet we dared not yield-besides, it was now a pitch-perfect Saturday afternoon.
The beach beckoned. We answered. I was wearing ill-fated trunks that wouldn’t be appropriate for a public beach. This had to be fixed. Purchases ensued.
We reached our destination. The beach peppered flawless; the water crystal pristine, chilled with a high concentration of slower particles less the warm current. Privacy was pirated; we commandeered huge real estate, ripe for soccer and Frisbee. Hesitant but willing, I began to wade its depths and challenge its dimensions. A dead fish scraped across my leg-I immediately headed back.
The sand swallowed me up and served the Sun’s warmth. I was grateful.
I am grateful.
“Grateful for what?” chimes Julie the inquisitive hostess. “N-Nothing. Hah, sorry. I had a call is all. What’s for dinner?”
________________________________________
Critical Writing was cancelled today. A thousand hallalujas.
Today will be a good day.