The Storage Unit

CIDER

About one weekend per month, Greg gets a strange gleam in his eyes and begins frequenting our small apartment storage unit with more attentiveness than usual. His mind begins to work furiously and the trips get longer and longer. I know that the battle has begun when boxes and bikes begin to make their way into the den, and then the living room, slowly taking over the front of the apartment and rendering it impassable. Greg is not seen or heard from in this initial battle; and were it not for the occasional thump or indistinguishable muttering, I would assume the boxes had finally taken him.

This dismantling continues until the storage unit is nearly empty and the apartment is quite full. Then, logically, reassembling must take place, and after a short break where battle-wounds are tended to and courage is rejuvenated, back he goes to begin the Tetris-style reconstruction. Box after box goes back in, the bikes find their home, and soon - aside from vacuuming - the task is complete.

Grinning madly he takes me to see the result of his hard work. I step into the vault and survey a scene that is remarkably similar to the previous design. Still, the fact that he has accomplished this feat is given much praise, and proper appreciation is to be expected. As we step back into our apartment, a brooding silence falls over the two of us, and I know we are thinking the same thing:

"Perhaps next month. . . "

It is one of the warmest January days on record. . .

It is one of the warmest January days on record. At a comfortable 70 degrees, I can sit outside in the sun and allow my mind to be tricked into thinking that spring is now here. I walk this route day after school-day, on my way to class. It is a path that leads down below the street, and over the river that passes through the middle of downtown. There are shorter, more efficient routes that I could take, but this is one always calls to me. Like a quiet sentinel, this river is an oasis in the middle of the city, and I often imagine the alpine slopes and silent woods that it must wind through in order to find me. It also has a magical quality about it, for out of the corner of my eye I often see the waters of my favorite camping-spot, where I’ve stayed since I was a child.

The sounds of the river are also mystical, for no matter how loud the cars, trucks, and emergency vehicles can be; the gentle murmur of the river still carries out over the noise. For it, unlike man-made counterparts is consistent. Some days it is peaceful and playful, babbling over stones and around sand-banks, while still others; swollen with the run-off of a distant rain it complains loudly as it courses through its too-small path. But on the day of my writing, it is a balm, for it joins with nature to laughingly throw off winter’s mantle, defying the cold death-grip out of sheer pleasure – to provide a day of enjoyment for a student such as myself, and also for the runners, walkers, bicyclists and myriad of pets that need to stretch their legs.

In a week or two I will pass by this grassy slope, bundled tightly against the freezing temperatures which will remain for months, and I will smile. For today is a hidden gem to be remembered with pleasure, not simply for the beautiful chance to sit and be warmed by the sun; but because of what today symbolizes. That winter, like any sort of bondage, can be thrown off simply and quickly to the freedom of all.

And for a student such as myself, that is good to remember. . .

Just Beginning. . .

So this is a blog spot. . .

Here I hope to write thoughts and events that I can share with friends and family, and even have a continuation of writings I have and continue to place in a folder called 'Of Magic & Sensibility'. Henceforth the clever blog name, which is far more clever than the word 'blog'. As there is not much time now, I will write more later, but I wanted to at least start, which is exactly what this is; a start.