Personal Narrative-Home

It’s the grassy greens, near the winding pebbly road I remember first. The long stalks of spinifex still line the edges, though now neatly trimmed all around. The uneven crunch-crunch-crunch of the gravel as I drive my sunny Porsche across town. Even in winter, bindies pepper the half soccer field, other foliage: a bush dotted with withered yellow berries and emerging saplings surround the patchy lawn like spectators. Smack bang in the middle, winter clawing its way in, stands a grandiose resilient oak, basking under the mild heat of the country sun, glorified as it houses two tombs. Its boughs stretch towards me invitingly and I smile…

“There were orchards, heavy leafed in their prime, and vineyards with the long green crawlers carpeting the ground between the rows. There were melon patches and grain fields. White houses stood in the greenery, roses growing over them. And the sun was gold and warm.

Grass tickles my bare feet, and the sultry night air caresses my skin as I stand facing the forest. With the moon full and glistening over the dew covered greenery, I am enraptured. The gentle breeze wraps around me like a lovers embrace and I am lost to my surroundings. The nights are beginning to cool with the new season and are a welcomed relief to the waning summer heat.

"More than anything, I just want you to know that there is more than one person you can lean on. You may have someone up their who you are relying on, but you have two incrediably strong sons who would never wish to see their mother in pain like this. Whatever the outcome we finally get your boys will be strong for you and in return I'm sure you will be strong for them."[/b]

The petite stream is the only guide, slithering nimbly on – almost like a snake. The clouds are mighty; they are too dense to see the holy, cerulean sky. Stretching up to try and touch this sky are monolithic towers, which overshadows anyone who passes. Moss clenches onto them, their humdrum green tops merging together. They are quite daunting: their lanky structure, over hanging ledges (that threaten to give way any moment) – everything about the wild stone pillars are awe striking, and great.

Strutting through the familiar, gate worn by time, I spread my arms, taking in the saccharine aroma of the fresh grass. The remaining glimmers of the sun glisten on every blade that peeks through the moist soil, composing a sea of sparkling beauty, only comparable to a poem. The meadow is breathtaking this evening, as the sun sets behind the trees in the distance, leaving a glow of pinks, peaches, ambers, and crimsons behind as if a bowl of fruit had exploded in the sky.

"You can't keep holding on to stuff like this, James." Natasha sighed, slipping a delicate hand through her hair. "It's not healthy."

“Dad!” Was the only word that had rushed out of Russell’s mouth the instant he saw his father enter the room. And, once he finished hugging Cary he then added, “Have you found him? What did those people you arrested say?”

“I’m going to break you.” She said. “Every single bone in your body and once you recover, I’ll do it again if I have to.”

Looking across the pastures and gently rolling hills of the farm, broken up into rectangles by barbed wire fences, I see dots of black where cows graze. Farther away in another pasture two spots of chestnut makeup horses, sleeping in the bright sun. Another horse, whose gleaming copper coat spotted with brown and white shines in the light, is slowly walking around his pasture looking for the perfect place to eat. I take a deep breath of rich air and smell the earthy scent of dirt, manure, and animals. Tall, green grass gently dances in the warm breeze. Birds flit across the sky, landing in the branches of large oak trees and a white cat creeps through the fescue, searching for her afternoon snack.

You never actually said your name out loud to anyone, and I'm not entirely sure how I managed to find it out in the first place. I'm sure it was through the whisper chains you hear every so often in this cafe. You have a soft voice you know, it's barely audible when you say things, it's not quite what I'd call gruff or gritty, it just has this sort of toughness. It's as though you've steadily built up a defence mechanism in your voice so people don't ask you things you'd rather not answer.

When you travel up the driveway, the property is invisible until you reach the crest of the hill and turn around a bank of evergreens. Suddenly you see an old farmhouse and a cottage with a large, scrubby lawn, a huge vegetable garden and a field of clover behind it all with the Skimmerhorn mountain range framing the back of the picture. If you’re lucky you may have startled some deer in the orchard that you probably didn’t notice driving by as you drank in the view. There is an openness but at the same time there are fir and tamarack trees, maple trees and Saskatoon shrubs marking off the border of seven acres of rural peace and quiet.

Donovan gazed out over the dusky ground. His green eyes darted around looking for any signs of movement. A dry hot breeze hit his rugged cheeks. It was a sensation he was used to. The desert winds were kisses he had loathed and yet, was as familiar as a lover’s embrace. Every night rolled on the same. The odd trader with their beast of burden mewling in the dark. The rank smell of cow excrement tainted the seemingly desolate air. Scrub brush swayed lazily.

However, while Mr. Tipton’s garden held a variety of flowers, during the summer, the garden bed would always be alive with the vibrant blooms of zinnias. Dozens – no, hundreds it seemed like—of scarlet, fuchsia, and gamboge blossoms of varying heights rose above the manicured lawn like reeds near the water’s edge. They carpeted the area in front of the child-height

The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.