Solitary Chronicles

We marched like soldiers to the canyon,
dressed for battle against the currents.
My eyes were glued to the ground,
as I walked over each rock,
When I looked up our guide threw up his hand
and we circled around while he gave us the plan.
when we broke he stepped up to the edge
and beckoned one of us over,
I went first.
The water was roaring
he pointed out and yelled:
"jump in the white water"
without hesitation I leaped.

Your right, I never think ahead.
And although I walk through the streets
with a limp,
I sleep at night with the memory
of that one fall, where the water turned into mist
before it hit the ground.

I awoke this morning on a beach in the French Riviera. The water's brilliant color blue cascades to milky white as it crashes on shore. There is no sand, but smooth rocks piled upon eachother, like a barrackade keeping the tide from soaking everything I own. And when that saline crest reaches its climax, its falls back; retreats into itself, and one by one the rocks are pulled down with it, creating a sound so tranquilizing, description becomes impossible.

Now I sit on a balcony in the swiss alpes. The air is cold, and the scent of alpine is everywhere. I am about to leave for a canyon high in the mountains, where I will bungee jump four hundred and fifty feet.

    The streets were burning with midnight passion,
And the smoke clouded a star gazing night.
        I walked alone down a dimly lit alley way,
Much alike many before,
                      And yet I stopped abruptly,
Because I had suddenly realized where I was.
      An old shop keeper leaned out her window,
Green eyes penetrated mine, almost asking,
      "Etes-vous perdu?"
I knew that I was, more than ever before,
      But how could I truley be lost,
                       If I have no where to go?

         We all met at Tanners house. Each one of us making small talk and cracking jokes. The sun was still high in the air when we set out towards something we had forgotten. With no particular direction in mind I found myself walking at the back of the group, listening to all, and observing all. We walked past our old and weathered elementary school, and all the portable classrooms that were strewn out on the field. The steps beside the gym were still welcoming our carefree minds, yet they seemed much smaller and weaker. While we all felt the anxiety of the future weighing our shoulders down, it seemed if we tried them they would break. The air was resilient with the sounds of summer, and our collective compass pointed north. Towards the old oak tree that the forest used to conceal, but was now exposed and surrounded by parking lots and office buildings. We all sat down on the logs, as silence casted a shadow on our reunion, I leaned back against the tree, and a small piece of glass caught my eye ever so subtly. When I picked it up I was surprised to see my own reflection, or shocked because I was so young, and for a split second when I looked up again, I saw everyone five years younger, wasting time in the shade of the oak tree. Right then I realized this would be the last night of my childhood, of our childhood, because it was only when we all were together when we really felt like kids. Most of us were leading different paths this summer, and it was likely that we wouldn't all meet up again, so we set out once more, eager for one last adventure, and one last trip.