Another oldie I found. This one was an assignment that I did, only to realize that it was the wrong assignment and was not needed. So my high school teacher never saw it...but that just makes me savor this more because she didn't spoil it for me with her simpering tone and everyone's-style-is-equal-in-my-eyes attitude. She was actually a bit of a glory-kill (much like a buzz-kill, but much, much worse.)
Here is History in the Five Senses.
Or something like that. For the life of me, I cannot recall what it was supposed to be called.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
History is the chronicle of the deeds and actions of mankind, recorded and remembered in the many ways know to us. In essence, history is a story of our past; to some, it is a story of the things that have died, never to return. But for to the observant person, it is not dead at all; indeed, if you stop and consider, history is all around, reminding us of the heritage and undimmed glory of times past.
The remnants of history can be seen in the icy gleam of steel, a lone banner in the wind, and sometimes in a wild spark deep in a person’s eyes. People carry pieces of history in them even if they don’t know it; it is part of them, just as a tree is part of a forest. It can be seen in the way an old veteran salutes a flag, his eyes never leaving the banner for which his country stands. You can see it in the noble faces of antiquated statues, sightlessly staring back into the ancient stories whence they came. History can be seen everywhere; but do we look for it?
The remnants of history can be heard; for instance, in the resounding toll of a bell, the roar of the ocean, an old song or the rattle of chains. It can be heard in the keening of the bagpipes of the highlands, the thunder of horses’ hooves and the longing call of the Celtic whistle, pleading for something that cannot be given; also, in the hiss of an arrow or the crack of a rifle, weapons of war seeking to strike a target. When walking, you can hear it in the whispers of the swaying trees or the hunting cry of a hawk; but do we listen for it?
The remnants of history can be felt in the bark of a tree and the smooth surface of headstone. It is tangible in the energy of a ferocious wind at your back, or cold sleet whipping your face. It can be felt in the cold, dangerous beauty of a blade, or the sting of sand whirling around your ankles. But do we feel for it?
The remnants of history can be tasted. You can taste it in the saltwater of the ocean, coarse and distasteful, or in the sweat running down your face. You can taste it in the savory simplicity in a slice of bread, or in the bold, round flavor of Cabernet Sauvignion; but do we seek to taste it?
The remnants of history can be smelled. You can smell it in the rich earth of the garden, or the clear, unmistakable smell of rain. You can smell it in the dust churned up by your feet, the sharp, rusty smell of blood, and in the blunt, bold smell of smoke. It can be smelled in burning wax and dusty attics; but do we try and scent it?
History remains all around us, lingering on a whisper, a breeze, heard in songs or read in books; but it is up to us to realize its presence and fully appreciate the past era that we have, as a people, come from.
Here is History in the Five Senses.
Or something like that. For the life of me, I cannot recall what it was supposed to be called.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
History is the chronicle of the deeds and actions of mankind, recorded and remembered in the many ways know to us. In essence, history is a story of our past; to some, it is a story of the things that have died, never to return. But for to the observant person, it is not dead at all; indeed, if you stop and consider, history is all around, reminding us of the heritage and undimmed glory of times past.
The remnants of history can be seen in the icy gleam of steel, a lone banner in the wind, and sometimes in a wild spark deep in a person’s eyes. People carry pieces of history in them even if they don’t know it; it is part of them, just as a tree is part of a forest. It can be seen in the way an old veteran salutes a flag, his eyes never leaving the banner for which his country stands. You can see it in the noble faces of antiquated statues, sightlessly staring back into the ancient stories whence they came. History can be seen everywhere; but do we look for it?
The remnants of history can be heard; for instance, in the resounding toll of a bell, the roar of the ocean, an old song or the rattle of chains. It can be heard in the keening of the bagpipes of the highlands, the thunder of horses’ hooves and the longing call of the Celtic whistle, pleading for something that cannot be given; also, in the hiss of an arrow or the crack of a rifle, weapons of war seeking to strike a target. When walking, you can hear it in the whispers of the swaying trees or the hunting cry of a hawk; but do we listen for it?
The remnants of history can be felt in the bark of a tree and the smooth surface of headstone. It is tangible in the energy of a ferocious wind at your back, or cold sleet whipping your face. It can be felt in the cold, dangerous beauty of a blade, or the sting of sand whirling around your ankles. But do we feel for it?
The remnants of history can be tasted. You can taste it in the saltwater of the ocean, coarse and distasteful, or in the sweat running down your face. You can taste it in the savory simplicity in a slice of bread, or in the bold, round flavor of Cabernet Sauvignion; but do we seek to taste it?
The remnants of history can be smelled. You can smell it in the rich earth of the garden, or the clear, unmistakable smell of rain. You can smell it in the dust churned up by your feet, the sharp, rusty smell of blood, and in the blunt, bold smell of smoke. It can be smelled in burning wax and dusty attics; but do we try and scent it?
History remains all around us, lingering on a whisper, a breeze, heard in songs or read in books; but it is up to us to realize its presence and fully appreciate the past era that we have, as a people, come from.
No comments:
Post a Comment