The road snaked around the mountains, stretching endlessly as we zipped across. I opened the car window, and as I was greeted by a rush of cool air, my gaze drifted from the dark hills surrounding me, to the sky. It was a thick, black blanket dotted with bright lights; almost like powdered sugar sprinkled on a table. The longer I watched the more stars revealed themselves, and all the fatigue I felt melted away into wonder and awe. The sight of stars is a luxury for me, coming from the city. I couldn’t help but wonder, what
would it be like to live here and see them every night? Would I still look on in awe? Or would they just become an aspect of nature I would take for granted?
Walked up a hill where the most alive thing to be seen was me. I sat down by the side of a grave. You look at a row of tombstones from the right or left, not knowing whether you’re looking at one or it’s hiding a thousand. I got off the ground to read a few names. “Muhammad, Muhammad, and Muhammad.” I immediately closed my eyes and prayed,
“God, you’ve taken with you this name so many, but this one he’s mine. Please don’t take my friend away.” Whether you’re 6 foot 3 or barely 5, we’re all grateful we’re not an
inch below the ground.
The Root Bridges. Indian Rubber Trees roots extending through the rocks, into the pristine water and across the stream to form a solid bridge. Centuries-old bridges grown from tangled roots. Even more stable than a cable bridge. However, it takes time, hundreds of years even, to reach their full potential of stability and strength. We, as a class, do
not have that much time, but hopefully one day we can reach that level of solidity in our friendships.