Re-Recalls of a Distant Land

At Mr. Nic's request,
I will republish a BLOG from my personal site....
This was awhile ago, HOPE you enjoy as much as Nic did....



Its 230 am.....little bit too hot to be sleeping. I guess i can finally talk about the very special place in my town ive been tempting you, my faithful followers (lol) for a few blogs. I call it the waterfall, however, there is no waterfall there : P. There is a park, next to the Wisconsin river, which runs through our town. I dont know how i found it, or how long its been there, but i would guess for a very long time. I remember reading about it having a skate park (if you're into that kind of thing) built a few years ago, and if you're headed towards best buy you can see the park down the hill in the winter, when the trees are dead.
ANYWAYS
As with most parks, this one has *gasp* a parking lot, and you can park facing the water, and about 15 yards in front of you is the river. Now, this might not sound like a very unique thing at all.
WELL
I used to do ALOT of writing in said parking lot. Something about the place was special, and everyone that has been there has felt it. I thought for a long time that I was special in the feeling, but after I became less absorbed in my writing some days i would look out my windows and observe other folks behavior (one of my favorite activities). And I found, to my great suprise, that other people used this place for reasons similar to my own. When I go to the waterfall, i do alot of venting. Ive put down my greatest secrets, most beautiful and heartfelt poetry, most tormented anguishes, and sadest laments, at this park. Ive laughed here. Ive cried here. Hard. Ive ruminated for hours here. Ive learned here. People come to this park to unload their fears and to relive their lives.

Here are some of my writings from this place, my observations of other people who understand the power of the waterfall.

One woman pulls up next to me. She's very well to do. Mercedes, Prada bag, DG sunglasses bigger than her face...... The sunglasses come off. Her face is blank. Her eyes stare at the water. Tears fall. She sits there, with no emotion on her face for over an hour, crying. The sunglasses go back on. She departs.
An old woman walks down the road. Alone. No cane, or walker, she's strong for her age. She goes to the rivers edge, which is lined with great granite rocks. She stairs out over the water. Her eyes close, and she just stands. Breathing. Sometimes she smiles. Sometimes she looks hurt. Sometimes she lets out a cry of pain. She stands, eyes closed, for two hours. She turns and leaves.
A middle aged woman arrives. Toyota, not new, for some reason i think she's a secretary. She gets out of her car, and walks up to a tree. She faces the tree, about one foot from its trunk. For the next hour, she trys to touch it. Her arm extends. Her fingers tremble. But right at the last moment, right before she touches it, her hand backs away, as though the tree is on fire. Everntually, she turns and leaves.
In our town, we have a large number of mentally ill people. One of the most locally famous is known as "crazy bike guy". Bike guy rides his bike all day long, year round, all over town. He's the butt of many many jokes. He often times throws his bike into the street or river, beats it furiously, or runs away from it. He has schizophrenia. I sit in my car. Bike guy arrives on his bike. There is a bench where you can sit and look out over the water. Bike guy sits. He pulls out several slices of bread. He tears them up, and feeds the birds. I must admit, my heart did melt at this event. The longer i watched, the more sad i became. Here is a beautiful individual, with a serious mental disorder, who is the laughing stock of the entire town. He sits on the bench, alone, for 4 hours. He picks a flower near by and smells it. He sighs. I'm close to tears. No one would ever go sit next to bike guy. He's alone on his bench, and no one would ever sit next to him, or ask him how his day is. No one would ask him if he loved, or is loved. no one would ask him out to dinner, or what his favorite color is. He's just crazy bike guy to them. Bike guy stands, mounts his steed, and is off. I get out of my car, walk to the bench, and pick up the flower he smelt. I place it gently on the bench. One tear trickles down for bike guy. For his pain. For his lonelyness. For his solitude. Ride on, bike guy.
Everyday, an elderly man comes. He has a fishing pole, but he never fishes. He doesn't stay long. He stands on the granite boulders that line the banks of the river and stairs out. Sometimes he sits. Sometimes he stands. But he never puts down the pole. He usually stays for about 10min. He leaves.

That ends my writings. These people understand the power of the waterfall. Sometimes I saw them multiple times. Sometimes just once. But they all came, everyone that comes, knows why they are there. They have pain. They have unfinished business. They have happiness. They remember.

And I remember them.


The story as to why I've been there so often is for another day.




Dedicated to "crazy bike guy".