CITY SERIES: HEALING For the love of where we’re from. “Haunted On a Bluff” By: Madalyn Whitaker Each city that becomes a part of me has a river that I wish I could lay at the bottom of. This city... its river haunts me. It never reflects the color of the sky. On days when the sun is the only thing sitting in the blue of the atmosphere, the river stays black with subtle undertones of green. On days when the sky cannot be seen through a thick blanket of gray clouds, the river still remains the same shade. It never changes, and maybe this is why I find solace in its presence. I’m pulled to this river every day on my walk to work. Some days, I leave my apartment early so I can sit on the cement steps next to the water or let the grass on the banks entangle me while everyone walks by. Most people only give the black surface, maybe, one glance. They don’t know that, here - you can whisper your secrets, your sorrows, your fears, your pain, into the current. No matter what is thrown in, the water still runs down stream, bubbles and swirls underneath the sea foam green footbridge, and falls in turmoil over the dam. This river is why I stand on that green bridge too long, or sit on the bluff even after the water level rose too high the day before. I’ve sat next to this river and cried after a night of drinking too much about the despair that only a severe hangover can bring on. I’ve laid in the grass in the cold spring sun and timed my breath with the sound of the water rushing by. My ears have become in tune to the way the water sounds when it hits cement, compared to when it hits the mud. I like to imagine that I could sit at the bottom and ignore the rubbish that floats by. I could create an oasis of my own on the mushy river floor.
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