Kristine Joy, Writer

This was written for a writing class in which we had to mimic the style of a piece by Lucy Sante.

Preamble: I will re-write the Sante piece, using a different universal experience; interactions with nature / the great outdoors. Like Sante, I will use the first paragraph to reveal a “The first thing I saw…”  for a multitude of first-person narrators, but with the addition of other senses with the intent to pull the reader into each scene. The second paragraph will contain an action related to nature; again using multiple narrators. Lastly, the narrators will share the reaction of nature (an unknown, like in Sante, and thus, a bit playful in nature; pun intended) in the third paragraph.

The first thing I saw was a herd of bison moving in a stately procession. The first thing I heard was a thunderclap. The first thing I saw was a dense fog; it formed where the waterfall crashed into the majestic lake. The first thing I felt was the warmth of the sun. The first thing I touched was the tusk. The first thing I saw was a pile of smooth and shiny pellets that could have been mistaken for Skittles if they hadn’t been brown and lacking the signature S. The first thing I tasted was the saltiness of the elk jerky. The first thing I saw was a big rock that seemed to impress the rest of my family but not me. The first thing I smelled was lavender. The first thing I saw was a tree wider than our car that continued upward further than my eyes could follow. The first thing I heard was a bee buzzing. The first thing I saw was a soaring eagle with a wingspan that appeared to stretch for a mile. The first thing I felt was the stabbing pain of a thorn. The first thing I tasted was ice cold, slightly sweet water from the spring.

I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at the pattern of orange diamonds that ran up and down the 5 foot long body. I leapt over the stream, but slipped on mud; my shoes were soaked and would uncomfortably slosh for miles. I watched as leaves of all different colors seemed to float, rhythmically back and forth, to the ground. I nervously trembled as I neared the edge of the canyon. I listened to the hoofbeats of the mustang running wild until the gait was out of range. I sipped my hot coffee from atop a plateau overlooking the magnificent view of the Rio Grande River. I placed a cam in the crack and hoped it would hold. I jumped off the dock feet first. I flailed my arms, ski poles extending from them, as I careened towards the tree. I watched my dog run free. I swatted at the mosquito. I pulled my fingers apart, and without thinking, licked the sap. I applied aloe from the cactus to my cut.

The wave crashed down on itself swallowing me up for breakfast. Orion kept his club raised, but knew that it was just for show. The school of salmon heard my motor in the distance and re-routed. The prairie dogs surfaced and retreated, one after the other, scared that they would be struck down like Whac-A-Mole characters. The mule deer looked up at my headlights in a state of confusion. The cross winds pushed my sailboat further away from shore; mocking me for having tried them. The goose bit me as I tried to weave through the pack. The avalanche slowed to a stop, obviously choosing to spare me. The reef showed me signs of fatigue wanting to give up on the fight against climate change. The tree branch waved back. The Northern Lights read the awe in my expression and smiled. The moose looked up at me, laughed at my getup and then proceeded downstream. The dirt longed to be soft moss instead. The lake held stock still during morning meditation.