Myra Meyer The Beholder

MYRA MEYER Third Place Salveson Prize in Prose

The Beholder

Monotony

The walking was monotonous, but in the way that sleeping or breathing is monotonous. Walking was more of a therapy for us. We were soothed with the constant feeling of boots pressing into the earth. This consistency balanced just right with the ever-changing scenes of nature surrounding us. The birds whistled, and the trees danced, and we kept patting our feet on the ground. We kept the mood light with our friendly chatter as we exchanged riddles. If there is a bee in my hand, what’s in my eye? And upon tiring of riddles, we sang songs to quench any boredom. The birdsong was prettier than any of us could do, but we sang anyway as we trudged through nature. It wasn’t until later, lying in my sleeping bag, that I finally understood the riddle: Beauty is in the eye of the bee-holder.

Beauty

The stars tell stories. I have always liked to stretch myself out under the stars. Their vastness makes me feel insignificant, but I don’t care. I simply like to marvel at the complexity of the universe. I pride myself on being able to find the few constellations that I know, and I never hesitate to share their

Some people stories with whomever I am with. “Do you see are just Cassiopeia? She’s over there; the one that looks like like poor a sideways ‘w’. She was placed upside down in the

Cassiopeia: sky. Do you want to know why?” Nobody cares as doomed to much as I do, but I don’t mind because that’s just spend their the way that people are sometimes. Some people lives upside are just like poor Cassiopeia: doomed to spend their lives upside down, but they never realize it. And down, but they while those foolish people are staring at the bright never realize it. light in front of them, I am looking to the bright lights above.

Serenity

This. This is my happy place. Imagine it: the water laps lazily on the rocks, and the gentle breeze caresses my skin, relieving me of some of the sun’s heat. My bare feet dangle off the side of the old bridge that leads to nowhere as I breathe in the fresh afternoon air. I had seen some turtles laying out on a log to sun themselves earlier, but they all scattered at the sound of my approach, so now it’s just me and my book basking in all that nature has to offer. Can you see it? Can you feel the beauty in such serene moments of solitude?

Judge’s Comments: The author of this piece wants me to quiet my mind and look alongside them to feel, through concrete details, what we mean when we use abstract terms like “monotony,” “beauty,” and “serenity.” They wisely take several clichés, such as “beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” and stage an encounter with them that makes me reconsider their meaning afresh, with joy.

—Ruth Williams Poet and Associate Professor of English, William Jewell College