Old writing…

22 Apr

While cleaning today, I came across some additional papers my mom had kept; one of them was one of my writings from my senior year in high school.  She kept a lot of stuff, some of it is interesting to read again, some of it, I scratch my head and wonder why my mom ever kept some of this stuff.  I think she just had a hard time letting go of anything that had to do with myself or my brother (more so my stuff).

I have retyped the writing below:

The Wishing Pond

Tucked away in the forest, about a quarter-mile off the beaten path lay a small body of water, barely large enough to call a pond.  The crystal-clear water runs several feet deep, lined at the bottom with a bed of copper.  Within this cooper bed lay the hopes, dreams, fears and promises of an entire population dating back generations.  This wishing pond is legendary in my community.  Children as well as adults visit its calming stillness in search of answers, advice, resolution or just the overwhelming peace attained by quiet reflections at the water’s edge.  Not only is the wishing pond my favorite place, but also it is where I really grew up.

When I was a child, the wishing pond was an enigma, an adventure of sorts.  My friends and I would bike to the edge of the woods, and then trek on foot until the path was no longer visible.  In the spring and summer the vegetation was lush and thick and we felt as if our odyssey had taken us to the jungles of South America.  However, once we had journeyed to the gargantuan oak, we knew that if we forked left, the pond was only a few yards ahead.  It was there that we laughed, capering and frolicking.  We wished for snow days, birthday presents, a baby sister, no more liver for dinner; all the things that are really important to you when you’re seven years old.

As a teenager I would go to the pond as a sort of escape.  Still my magical haven, whenever my parents would fight, I would run out the door, hop on my bike and go down to the wishing pond.  It was my “safe place”, my harbor from harm.  I would wish for my parents to stop fighting and I would wish for a boyfriend – someone whom I could love and who would love me in return.  Later when I did have a boyfriend, we would seek refuge at the pond.  In the silence of the shadows we shared secrets and professed undying love for one another.  It was there that I received my first kiss.  It was also the place where I went when my heart was broken for the first time.

Now as a young adult I take the child I nanny down to the wishing pond and watch her play in the water.  Watching her splash about in the pond, chatting to herself, and giggling occasionally, I imagine she is silently wishing for a baby sister or birthday presents the way I had done when I was a child.  Today I still go there in search of solace.  It is my time to commune with nature and reflect on life and what I really want in life.  I also wish for a good person to come into my life – someone with whom I can share my hopes and dreams and someone who will sweep me off my feet.

The wishing pond is just that – a place to go and dream about tomorrow – a place where magic begins with simple wishes.  Sometimes the wishes even come true.  It is also a haven of safety when you are afraid.  The wishing pond is where I grew up and where I am continuing to grow up.

That was it, that was what I had written, I think I had to write it for an English class, but I am not sure.  I do remember writing it though.

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