English 215w

After an arduous day of school and work, it's a simple gratification to return home, to the serene surroundings of familiarity and comfort. Signing out of work at the end of a long day, the simple pleasure of writing one's own initials and the time of departure in a tiny box aside your co-workers brings about pure elation. As you hold your head high after a good day, or allow it to sling low, your chin resting on your chest as you sulk away the day's sorrows while wishing the other's farewell and end with the simple promise of returning tomorrow. Stepping outside of the claustrophobic-inducing building the wonders of the world flood the senses: the warm mango sun, glistening banana rays of light, and the fresh dusk breeze. Any random visitor of the tranquil park would begin to reflect on the evening that has not yet arrived and how the surroundings of ones world are often taken for granted. Walking off the grounds onto a grassy field it's the perfect opportunity to seize the moment, to appreciate the hidden beauty of a hectic and fast paced world.
One can see promise in the pink and purple sky: The day is not yet over and the certainty that many events still loom overhead is eminent. Children run back and forth, hither and thither across the field, playing as if they day will forever be a lovely melody or soothing voice in their worried ear. Gleeful faces and innocent laughter fill the scene as the next vista comes into play. A flippant stream runs perpendicular to the path, which is no more than a sidewalk. The stream's rhythmic gurgling of the cerulean water is drowned out only by the chaotic vocal signature resonating from game birds, which call the paradise in a city home. Though small in stature, these fowl form the majority of the populace of the neighborhood within the stream. Cardinals and doves roam to the waters edge to feed on breadcrumbs tossed into the water. A child, anxious to feed the ducks and watch them in their natural habitat though simultaneously wanting to be a part of the ducks' lives and affect them in some way. The hot sun begins to beat down onto the pavement and the sidewalk gives way under the stress, cracking and splitting in an attempt to beg forgiveness of the relenting sun as blisters form in the cement from the unrelenting torture.
The stream soon becomes but a distant memory as the cement path onward leads its traveler into a vast community with rolling hills and steep bluffs. The mountains reach high into the sky, almost caressing the clouds with their emerald and jade trees. The only occupants of the mountains, the tiny gems stand tall, gazing down upon the occupants of the valley, guarding them from the chaotic world of the city. On the floor of the valley, a variety of houses, built upwards as space is constricted to petite plots of land surrounded by guardian fences, carefully protecting the houses and its tenants within. The inconspicuous blobs of land, though feeble in size house and its surroundings make up ten-fold with the inconceivable value of such an average piece of real estate. The grandeur of the two story abode, glowing a brilliant champagne the house is lined at each side with lush green flora which give way to a snow white garage floor and two amble placed cars.
Inside the skeleton of a house, which is disguised in normalcy, dwells a house with long hallways comparable to the length of long vacant paths of the soul, large rooms akin to entire houses flow into each other with a carefree elegance. Skyward ceilings give way only to stairs, leading to chic quarters of one from long ago. The gray flooring gives way under each step, it's soft foam cushion balancing the sorrow of the room with the melancholy walls, which sense the never departing depression of the room.
A black bark-a-lounger sits alone in the corner of the room, swaying slightly from the breeze, as if begging someone to sit on it's neglected cushion, caress its forlorn handle and to bring it's purpose of life back. The dark leather stretches across the foam underneath and evidence of a now grown child still bears witness to the short life of the well loved chair. Spots of purple and white, perhaps from past art projects will forever dawn the chair, telling its story again and again to anyone who can take the time to stop and rest a spell.
Beyond the inert chair lives a black, worthless television. It's color adds to the lifelessness of its past and future-lonely and without a friend in the world. The grandeur of size permits its supporting rest to wither under its weight, the comatose contraption has long since past on and will be only used for spare parts when the time comes. Walking past the withered remains of a once great being, inquiries of precisely who lived "one upon a time" up in the greatest quarters in the castle begin to surface. Its high walls give little room for invasion and the sporadic placement of portholes leading to a world of uncertainty and new adventures dot each side of the room. The thin screens which envelope each opening give the illusion of security, all the while being just a mere decoration in a world of narcissism and vanity.
Photographs sitting atop many tables and dressers are scattered across the uniform room. Smiling faces of loving family fill each frame with the joy and simple pleasure of being next to a loved and cherished relative during events scattering across many years. All together these moments in time form a story, showing a timeline of a single soul's life, whispering the truth in the wind that no matter how fast ones life becomes or how hectic the daily routine is, the love and devotion of family will never falter, even under the harshest conditions. The sunlight fades each night, streams become dry and barren, and the birds will eventually stop, but no one can halt family. Once they have realized this only then does a person truly know that they appreciate the world around them, when they appreciate the people in it.