Autism: C'hele's Story

April 21, 2008

The Fraser River

Filed under: Poetry — C'hele @ 20:11

 

 

The Fraser River.

This was my playground back in the time before VCR’s and video games.

It was a sanctuary for the senses that allowed me in freedom to explore my authentic self.

A warm sunny morning would find me barefoot with my jeans rolled up to my knees standing at the rivers edge.

Kneading the mud that is squishing up between my toes, I quickly become bewitched by its heady, musky scent.

It was pure freedom to not to have a care at the tender age of twelve-

Whether to wear tight low-riding jeans with my g-string exposed or,

To just throw on a sweatshirt over a t-shirt to protect me from the early morning chill.

Pulling the long wisps and tendrils of my long hair back into a simple ponytail,

The rivers breeze tickles my skin.

As the green grasses and surrounding foliage sways all around me, I listen to her speak and I become mesmerized with the playground that she has opened up before me.

Dried red mud stains on my clothes and its heavy residue scent, is evidence of our connection.

I am in awe of her calm, silent strength.

Despite the sun mirroring her obvious beauty,

Those deep, sometimes dangerous muddy waters hold many mysteries-

And my respect.

In years past, the river would be my truest playmate as we played for many hours, games of catch. She would send me bullheads to fish and I always threw them back.

There were trees lining the roads back then that would support and shade me as I napped on hot summer days.

I suppose, I must of wore out at least two pairs of shoes each summer-

The gravel roads back then could be brutal on the heels as I explored them for many, many miles.

I would of have made Huckleberry Finn proud with my pony-tailed, light-red hair and tanned skin. By the end of summer the freckles accenting my upturned nose would be evidence of the sun kissing me-

What I would give to have that glow return to me.

This is where my first love lies and where eventually my ashes will be laid to rest.

For that muddy river and I hold many secrets that only the dredgers and slowly passing fishermen trolling by, knows how to respect.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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1 Comment »

  1. Lovely pictures and lovely poem. Thank you for posting them.

    Comment by modestypress — April 27, 2008 @ 17:15


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