Christina's Brook

By , Kennett, PA
Where am I? This place doesn’t look familiar. It is omniscient unlike the benevolent scene I am used to. It is blistering hot out here, and I haven’t eaten in days. I was taking my daily nature walk in the woods near my ancient home that was once my grandparents when I lost my way. I am sure this was how to get to the brook. How can I forget my favorite place? It is where the water tickles my toes when I dangle my feet in the pristine water to cool myself off and the little fish nibble my fingers as I wash my face from all the sweat that builds up when I am outside. Also it is where I go to relax and sometimes hide from my family when I do not want to do my chores.
To get to the brook I follow the path of the golden buttercups that turn your chin yellow when you hold it under your face. They begin once you pass the farm house of my stingy neighbor. He is about five foot seven inches and lives alone if you do not count his seven cats. Then, after the buttercups I reach the old oak tree that is a home to numerous forest creatures that include: birds, squirrels, and sometimes raccoons. From the tree I follow the scent of sweet nectar from the honey suckles and summer flowers, but it isn’t there. I am searching for this luscious scent everywhere. I cannot find the scent. I am lost. I always thought I knew these woods, except now it all looks uncanny and irregular. I ask the baby blue jay that is sitting on one of the lower branches of the old oak tree that I normally pass after the path of butter cups, “Have you seen the brook that runs through these woods?”
The baby bird answers back, “tweet,” and flies away.
He was no help. I need to find my way out of this endless maze. I am getting frustrated and sweat is now leaking into my timid tears, which are blurring my vision. I do not want to cry or sweat because it is wasting my precious water that I need to survive. As I try to keep on walking, my knees start to feel weak and it seems like nature has turned into my adversary. I trip over a large root from the large pine tree in front of me. As I fall, for the first time I scrape my arms on the aged pine needles that have now turned a dark red brown from not getting water and small branches on the ground that were broken off in the storm that came last night. The storm was not very strong but since these woods are old it is easy to break a branch from the trees because most of them died a long time ago, but are still standing in the soil. Struggling to get up again, I only have the wind to tell me what direction to take.
He says, “whoosh,” and gently pushes me to the right.
I muse about my beautiful brook. Its gentle tickle and coolness makes me grin with delightfulness every time I am near it. Now being aware of the sun setting I quicken my pace so I do not loose the light. That is when the hunger from not eating in days comes back and my stomach is in knots. The awful pain takes me down to the ground and I fall for the second time. As I feel like there is no end to this nightmare, nature takes my side. There is an opening between the massive trees. I get so excited I start to run despite the sickness in my stomach from the heat and my hunger. I feel impervious to all the jeopardy that still may come ahead.
I am finally out of this maze and into an open field. The grass is brown and over grown, but as I go into the clearing I spot an opulent house in the distance. This house isn’t mine, but at least it is a sign of civilization and I have no other way to safety. I go to run again. I am stopped because my legs will not let me go any farther. I fall for the third time. I truly cannot get up so I use my arms to pull myself across the field. I am struggling and my arms are violently shaking. The hair from my once tight bun begins to loosen and fall onto my sunburned, wet face as it becomes unkempt from the inclement weather that I am in. All my strength is gone. My legs will not carry me any farther, exhausted from this never ending journey. I now lay face down, arms out, longing for my beloved brook.





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