Site Journal #3

The Bench by the Water

I was sitting down facing the lake at the time that I was arriving at Sloan Lake Park; it had started getting dark and the air was cold and clear. I typically sit on the same seat each time I go to the park as I want to enjoy the peace & quiet of the park which is both calm and still but beautifully lit up by the streetlights. The seating area prompts me to reflect on the beauty of nothing moving and how sometimes you have to feel miserable to breathe and be able to live for an hour or two. My friends' voices that were gentle and coming from behind me continued to ring in my ears, even though I wasn't hearing anything; everything else around me was very much alive.

Reflections on the Water 

Before us lay the expanse of the lake and the glittering stars of the great city behind. The reflections were the stars upon the lake, and as they spread endlessly and calmly returned with great ease. With our music played softly and with singing and laughter we moved our feet noisily together in harmony with the way. In the cooling breeze was comfort.  I loved the calmness of the lake, in which every ripple bore a soothing tale.

The Bare Tree of Change 

The tree was directly before me with no leaves at all; however, it was very tall and strong, especially under the full moon light. The strength and destruction of the tree could be seen through its branches that stretched up toward the sky without any leaves. I realized that the reason the tree had lost its leaves and ultimately gave up to the inevitable seasons was still in its infancy in terms of what the tree's life would eventually become. It also reminded me that each ending has a new beginning, and that sometimes even after everything is taken away, we can still see beauty. I knew that when the next growing season arrived for the tree, the budding flowers would be a promise and a pledge made to me of the trees ability to grow again.

Bushes by the Shore

The bushes surrounding the lake swayed softly in the wind, and shone golden beneath the lamps. I found beauty in their ruggedness, too a quiet, honest beauty which does not demand perfection. The leaves palpitated in the passing gusts, and there was barely any noise — only the rustling which baby birds make going to their nest at night. This threw my mind into connection with the fact that nature is never perfectly quiet but where its motion is a little more visible, any motion, however slight, the faintest touch of breeze means life and action.

The Curving Path

We carried along the lighted path that encircled the lake as the street lights led us like stars here on earth. The trees that bordered the park were  beautiful and glowing containing hues of amber and brown. We inhaled the cool air with deep draughts, talking and laughing. The night seemed endless in the very most beautiful part of the world, a moment of purity by its very simplicity, without thoughts of the future, its coming responsibilities and cares. I was grateful for the friends beside me, for the quiet that remained in the park, and for the simplicity of the moment when an eternity of peace and happiness was uttered without any thought of its relativity from earthly things.

Under the Orange Trees

As we walked on our way the lamps swung our shadows on the ground. These were long shadows that rolled to the ground. The night wind swept about our fingers, but was forgotten in our high spirits. The leaves of trees murmured in the wind, and far away and remote we heard the voice of the city behind. Everything seemed infinite, light and dark, silence and laughter, coldness and warmth. For a moment it seemed to him that time lagged more slowly for him alone.

The Golden Tree

One tree stood out more brilliantly than the rest — its yellowing foliage shone like fire under the light. The way it flashed against the deep blue sky made me stop to look at it. It reminded me how beautiful it is to be able to change — to be able to let go, the leaves, is an essential function of life. I admired the way nature takes every season graciously. Even as the cold bit came, the tree had a glow of quiet pride, glowing before it bulks up for rest.

Giant Tree 

In front of me a tree stood large, with wide-arm branches glimmering with gold and bronze. In its leaves the wind whispered softly and sweetly. I stood beneath it for a time gazing upward, simply breathing and listening. In the gleaming, everything appearing dreamlike. I felt quietude, as though I had found a spot purpose-made for myself. That is the atmosphere of Sloan Lake, where the magic is of such a quality that it brings about a lessening of the heartbeat and a perturbed consciousness.

A Picture to Remeber 

though we felt the cold, but in the warmth of laughter all about us. The cold was in the air, but the laughter was warm. Behind us the water was dancing in the slights shining on it  and instinctively my thought was how fortunate I was to be able with those most I want to cherish to share this beautiful place. My friends had come to my favorite park where they followed me in the quiet wind, and helped to make the night warm in memory.

Skyline Reflection 

As I gazed down upon the town’s shore, the water lay over the lake’s surface as in a picture. The lights of the lanterns shone softly over the crested waves of water, and the light shone in gentle lustrous flickers as the wind blew by sweeping over the water to ripple the surface. The merry laugh of my companions behind me rang out in musical tones, which mingled with the sounds of the breezes and the distant sounds of the music which came to us in sweet sounds. I smiled to myself to think of the significancy of the place, of its sport and remembrance and beauty, the beauty which is associated with all that is beautiful in the art of creation, or which cannot be seen alone, but when the observer has time or can make time by observing the beautiful objects around him, so to speak, this observation per se is a pleasure to him.

Dancing Bushes 

The tall rushes of the river were playing on the surface of the water and their yellow edges were gleaming in the moonlight. They were somewhat dry, but full of life, vigorous, proud, beautiful. Their motion brought home to me the fact that nature is never dead. It rests, it changes, but life is ever in it. In myself I felt a revival, a recollection of the idea that each season has its own beauty.

Back Home

When we came back the moonlight had come back and put our long shadows on the road. It was cooler now and I knew that I was warm within, warm with love and peace and the praise of my heart. A nice, gentle breeze twisted among the trees and softly sang to the songs of the night. I turned back toward the lake for only a moment and looked at it shining softly in its darkness and I knew that this was one of those moments which one remembers in order not to forget. This was not only beautiful but it was alive that night, the lake. It was peaceful, it was in possession of all the good things of memory, things which I shall always cherish.