Shallow Water
Woolums, Brita
Verkauft von GreatBookPrices, Columbia, MD, USA
AbeBooks-Verkäufer seit 6. April 2009
Neu - Softcover
Zustand: Neu
Versand innerhalb von USA
Anzahl: Mehr als 20 verfügbar
In den Warenkorb legenVerkauft von GreatBookPrices, Columbia, MD, USA
AbeBooks-Verkäufer seit 6. April 2009
Zustand: Neu
Anzahl: Mehr als 20 verfügbar
In den Warenkorb legenPreface.......................................xi1. The Boy....................................12. Small Victories............................33. Keeping Track..............................104. The Robot..................................145. Furball....................................186. Journaling.................................267. Dreaming...................................338. Gathering Knowledge........................419. Out of Breath..............................4710. Alien Life................................5011. Embedded..................................6012. The Tahquamenon Falls.....................7013. Stone Cones...............................7614. Vignettes.................................8115. Trapped...................................9116. Holy Ground...............................11317. Missing...................................12218. A Critical Hit............................12519. Near Miss.................................13020. Innocent Casualties.......................14221. Kaelan....................................14722. Sunflower.................................16123. Still Missing.............................17424. Torturous Thoughts........................17725. Trigg.....................................18526. Line of Communication.....................191Bibliography..................................201
As I laid gazing and dreaming, I looked for answers in the sky. I was taught that the future was in the skies and that all you ever needed to know was just above you. I asked about tomorrow and the next day and the next, but I was still new in dreaming, so I only got as far as tomorrow. As I sat up and brought my face forward, I squinted and saw a boy playing on a beach faraway. He was about my age, give or take a few years. A whirling sound erupted above me, and I looked up to see the clouds entwining themselves into helixes. It was as if the sky was a big scattered puzzle that just fantastically started putting its pieces together before my eyes. Each step that we took towards each other put together another piece of the puzzle.
The wind whipped through the overgrown weeds along the arctic shore. Leaves and garbage raced the waves onto the pale beach. Beautiful pieces of sea glass hid themselves beneath the sand's recurring floods. One after another, fresh, young, foaming waves toppled over each other onto the beach, in hopes of using their white arms to help them win their repetitive relay races. In the far, concealed, never-ending track of sand, a young boy gathered lost sea shells, wandering colors of sea glass, and smooth stones for his handcrafted slingshot. Barefoot and knees covered in dry, cold sand, it was obvious that this young geologist had been digging for hidden treasures for a large part of his afternoon. Beneath the mysterious loose particles along the roaring aqueous whitecaps, multiple clams and shellfish buried themselves, one by one, away from the footsteps of the nearing boy. A small hand reached down and braised the soft sand as it lifted a large detailed shell of some once-living marine animal. The boy's mouth opened with interest, as he felt every little crevice and indentation of his new find. This gorgeous, glistening, golden seashell was like no other he had ever seen; massive, with lots of wear, it took up the space of over four of the boy's calloused hands. Holding the sea creature with care, he carefully placed his treasure into his navy knapsack.
As the boy turned around and began plodding down the spongy beach, his rugged sack weighed down his tiny shoulders. Retracing his footsteps, he detoured through the sharp, tall grass along the edge of the beach. Sweating, the boy trekked up an animal-worn path. Finally he came to a clearing where grass had been flattened by deer but had continued to grow sideways.
Breathing hard, the boy took a seat. He curled up his knees and placed his head to his dirty skin. After about ten minutes, he lifted his luminous, ocean blue eyes and glanced out from where he was resting. He lifted his knapsack upside-down in the air to empty its belongings onto the grass surrounding his calloused toes. Several twinkling rocks, fossilized stones, and exceptional shells tumbled out into the sunlight. Examining his findings, the boy picked up each of his stones and held them up in the bright sky. His young fingers caressed each of his prizes. After inspection of his hard day's work, he gently placed each finding back into his navy knapsack. He heaved the bag onto his raw shoulders and got up staring out at the rippling waters. After a moment, he turned and continued his trek up the steep bank.
He had gone and left my sight. I had to go home and wait until tomorrow to find him again.
Small Victories
Fifteen minutes flew by, and the boy finally returned to his parents' summer cabin on the island of Edisto in South Carolina. He slammed the wooden door behind him and just as he latched the deadbolt an echoing voice rumbled from the next room.
"Robby? Robby! Is that you?" his mother bellowed. She stood in the doorway that led to the living room, and put her arm against the door frame in exhaustion. Tall and blond, Robby's mother was forty-four years old. An avid painter, Farah was covered in splotches of red and yellow. After giving an intense look at her son she questioned him worriedly, "Are you okay? I've been worried sick about you. You know you can't go wandering about these foreign lands for long periods of time. There are people out there that aren't as forgiving as me and Dad you know?"
"I know, Mom," the boy replied solemnly.
"Who knows what kind of people dwell out here? It's like another city. You can't just go wandering off."
"I know, Mom, but I was okay. Nobody was around. It was just me and the ocean today."
"You went swimming? I thought we told you not to go-"
"No, I went collecting rocks. Do you want to see them? Some of them are very cool looking. Just try holding one up in the sunlight, you'll see."
"So you're telling me that you didn't go swimming today?" questioned the boy's worried mother.
"Yes! So do you want to see my findings?"
"Okay dear, but later," Farah relaxed her tense shoulders in relief. "Right now I'm going to try and figure out what we're going to eat for dinner tonight, okay?"
"Okay, Mom" the boy replied solemnly again, knowing full well that his mother really had no interest in his findings.
"But I don't want you running off again right now. It's beginning to get dark out. Promise me you'll stay within range of my voice if I want to call you, okay?"
"Yes, Mom!" an air of urgency resounded in Robby's voice. Just as his mother disappeared through the swinging kitchen door, Robby had an idea. Sprinting through the living room and into the kitchen, he went to beg his mother for her approval of an idea. "Hey, can we make a fire tonight? We can cook food with sticks like they did in the olden days. I'll get all of the firewood. You won't have to do a thing." Robby looked at his mother with anticipation and hope, "Please, Mom! Please! I know Dad'll wanna make one too, after he gets back from fishing. Pleeeaaase?!"
"Fine! But you better not go too far in your hunt for firewood, okay?"
"Yes, yes, of course! Thanks Mom, you're the best!" Robby hugged and kissed his mom and then sprinted back out of the...
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