Shasari
January 4th, 2009, 03:58 PM
I wrote this 14 years ago as a project for my English Lit course, the assignment was to choose a place that I knew about, and write a short 3rd person story about it - it's not furry related but I do have some that are still works in progress - so here it is:
----
"Secret Places" (c) 1994 Me
Ray was stressed; he needed to get away for a while, so he hopped on his Harley and rode to his secret place. This is a quiet place, nothing fancy. Just a dirt strip one lane wide called Rattlesnake Gutter Road. Even in the height of summer, it would be ten degrees cooler in the ravine the road bisected.
This place was full of shadows, and the boulder he sat on was one of the only places to receive sunlight. The ravine was ten to twenty feet deep and ranged from twenty to fifty feet wide. Ray liked to sit in the widest part, where the boulder is.
Cars seldom use this road, so there is little to disturb Ray from his thoughts. The secret place is full of life, trees mostly and moss on most of the rocks. The rattlesnakes the road is named for are elusive, and Ray has never seen one. Even with that type of danger, Ray loves this place. There is always a cool moist breeze blowing, and he can get away from the worst of the summers' heat. The brook running through the ravine makes a pleasant sound that helps ray lose his stress.
As he arrived, he kept the bike as quiet as possible. He always felt making noise in this place was a violation of some sort. His own ancestors were known to have lived in this part of the state, and he respects his Native American heritage. He crested a small rise in the road punctuated by a shallow left turn and killed the engine. One hundred and fifty feet later, he rolled to a stop. Directly opposite him was the boulder, the top of it being twelve feet above the road.
He found a rock to prop the kickstand of the bike on, and secured the machine and walked across a fallen tree over to the boulder. He went to the base of it and looked around. Some careless people had left three beer cans behind them . Ray picked them up and carried them back to his bike, depositing them in the saddlebag inscribed with his Native American spiritual name Running Wolf.
Walking back to the boulder again, he noticed a small spot under the boulder just big enough for him to fit into. He never noticed that before. He just had to crawl in and sit for a while. He made his way to the very bottom of the boulder, and with a bit of wriggling, made his way into the opening. Here it was even cooler, and there was a small puddle of water under his feet. Just enough room for him sit cross-legged, and at that, his head brushed the bottom of the boulder. No one could see him from the road, and this made him feel good as he settled in to meditate. Ray, being well versed in Leni Lenape Earth centered meditations, prayed to the Creator, and to Mother Earth herself.
He took out a small, cigar shaped bundle of sage, sweetgrass and lavender and lit the end, bathing himself in the smoke as he prayed to the Creator. He then purified the area he was sitting in by waving the smoke into every corner. When he was satisfied that the area was properly prepared, he carefully dipped the burning end of the bundle into the water, and put it back into the plastic bag he carried it in. He then spent an hour meditating with nothing but the smell of earth in his nose, and his prayers being directed to the Creator, Wakan Tanka.
He prayed that he might have the strength to live in the ways of his ancestors and be able to overcome the scorn and prejudice experienced from full blooded Native Americans for being a quarter-breed, as well as that from main stream America.
Now thoroughly chilled, but filled with a sense of peace, he crawled out from underneath the boulder to climb to the top. Once there, he sprawled out in the sunshine to warm himself. Up above, a red-tailed hawk made a lazy circle over the ravine. The hawk made two more circles and then dove straight into the ravine, landing twenty feet from Ray.
Ray sat straight up, looking at the bird. He thought to himself, "Well, this doesn't happen every day". The hawk also seemed to be eyeing Ray, as if sizing him up. Then it took off and flew straight over Ray, dropping a tail feather in the process. It fluttered down and landed at the base of the boulder. Ray quickly climbed down and picked up the feather. Carefully wrapping it in a small piece of buckskin, he took it over to his bike, and placed it in the saddlebag.
Ray now felt alive and powerful. There was no doubt in his mind that Wakan Tanka had heard his prayers and offered a sign to him. Straddling his bike again, he placed it in neutral, fired the engine and pulled away from the secret place. He headed home a very satisfied man.
----
"Secret Places" (c) 1994 Me
Ray was stressed; he needed to get away for a while, so he hopped on his Harley and rode to his secret place. This is a quiet place, nothing fancy. Just a dirt strip one lane wide called Rattlesnake Gutter Road. Even in the height of summer, it would be ten degrees cooler in the ravine the road bisected.
This place was full of shadows, and the boulder he sat on was one of the only places to receive sunlight. The ravine was ten to twenty feet deep and ranged from twenty to fifty feet wide. Ray liked to sit in the widest part, where the boulder is.
Cars seldom use this road, so there is little to disturb Ray from his thoughts. The secret place is full of life, trees mostly and moss on most of the rocks. The rattlesnakes the road is named for are elusive, and Ray has never seen one. Even with that type of danger, Ray loves this place. There is always a cool moist breeze blowing, and he can get away from the worst of the summers' heat. The brook running through the ravine makes a pleasant sound that helps ray lose his stress.
As he arrived, he kept the bike as quiet as possible. He always felt making noise in this place was a violation of some sort. His own ancestors were known to have lived in this part of the state, and he respects his Native American heritage. He crested a small rise in the road punctuated by a shallow left turn and killed the engine. One hundred and fifty feet later, he rolled to a stop. Directly opposite him was the boulder, the top of it being twelve feet above the road.
He found a rock to prop the kickstand of the bike on, and secured the machine and walked across a fallen tree over to the boulder. He went to the base of it and looked around. Some careless people had left three beer cans behind them . Ray picked them up and carried them back to his bike, depositing them in the saddlebag inscribed with his Native American spiritual name Running Wolf.
Walking back to the boulder again, he noticed a small spot under the boulder just big enough for him to fit into. He never noticed that before. He just had to crawl in and sit for a while. He made his way to the very bottom of the boulder, and with a bit of wriggling, made his way into the opening. Here it was even cooler, and there was a small puddle of water under his feet. Just enough room for him sit cross-legged, and at that, his head brushed the bottom of the boulder. No one could see him from the road, and this made him feel good as he settled in to meditate. Ray, being well versed in Leni Lenape Earth centered meditations, prayed to the Creator, and to Mother Earth herself.
He took out a small, cigar shaped bundle of sage, sweetgrass and lavender and lit the end, bathing himself in the smoke as he prayed to the Creator. He then purified the area he was sitting in by waving the smoke into every corner. When he was satisfied that the area was properly prepared, he carefully dipped the burning end of the bundle into the water, and put it back into the plastic bag he carried it in. He then spent an hour meditating with nothing but the smell of earth in his nose, and his prayers being directed to the Creator, Wakan Tanka.
He prayed that he might have the strength to live in the ways of his ancestors and be able to overcome the scorn and prejudice experienced from full blooded Native Americans for being a quarter-breed, as well as that from main stream America.
Now thoroughly chilled, but filled with a sense of peace, he crawled out from underneath the boulder to climb to the top. Once there, he sprawled out in the sunshine to warm himself. Up above, a red-tailed hawk made a lazy circle over the ravine. The hawk made two more circles and then dove straight into the ravine, landing twenty feet from Ray.
Ray sat straight up, looking at the bird. He thought to himself, "Well, this doesn't happen every day". The hawk also seemed to be eyeing Ray, as if sizing him up. Then it took off and flew straight over Ray, dropping a tail feather in the process. It fluttered down and landed at the base of the boulder. Ray quickly climbed down and picked up the feather. Carefully wrapping it in a small piece of buckskin, he took it over to his bike, and placed it in the saddlebag.
Ray now felt alive and powerful. There was no doubt in his mind that Wakan Tanka had heard his prayers and offered a sign to him. Straddling his bike again, he placed it in neutral, fired the engine and pulled away from the secret place. He headed home a very satisfied man.