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The River |
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The River
Short
 Created on 3-24-08
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 Story Rating G
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The Black River ran steadily, calmly, down the river bed. It rushed around the small island and the rope swing. It rushed passed our favorite fishing spots and the old trees we used to climb. It was as if nothing had ever happened.We would never go down to the Black River again, which was about half a mile from our grandparents’ house. My family and I, we would never see the playground where we played when we were little or the area where we used to splash and build sandcastles.They are gone. My grandparents left their house, their home. Now they are with us, but it isn’t the same. There will be no clothesline covered in Christmas stockings. No more dyeing Easter eggs at the kitchen table. No more Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas plays in the living room. There will no longer be Nana and Adda’s house.So, I will continue on my way, and watch and listen as we go on our last walk to the Black River. My cousins and I will spend one last day swimming and building sandcastles. If the water is deep enough, we will look for river clay, to make pottery to remind us of this moment. To remind us of the last time we saw the Black River and our last days of pure childhood innocence and fun.
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