The Monument

The smoke and the sound spread throughout the forest in concentric circles, the sound expanding faster and extending further. But soon both of these circles are blown away by the wind, spreading the foul gunpowder air and rustling the leaves of trees, the soothing sound of the latter spreading the tranquility back into the surrounding forest. Like the rippling circles of disturbed water, smoke and sound fade away as they spread, until again the water returns to its relative calm, the only movement the small fissures where the wind brushes the water.

Down the hill a short distance to the left rests the banks of the Mississippi. Yellow soufflé foam gathers along the lapping shore. A dead catfish lies belly up, its whiskers smeared with foam, like beer upon the upper lip of a drunk, where he saves the foam for its flavor, to lick off the lips later, when his pint is gone, along with his money. The yellow foam is propelled towards shore by the wake of a passing yacht, the occupants laughing for no apparent reason.

Up the hill to the right is a sandstone cliff overlooking the river. The cliffs height is level with the canopy of the surrounding trees, trees that are thinning out as the water levels increase steadily each year, the roots losing hold, or drowning in the wet earth. In the cracks of the slowly eroding sandstone are cigarette butts, beer caps and spent fireworks.

Above the cliff, separated by a fence dividing the forested riverside from the short, freshly cut grass, stands a park, which bikers and runners pass through on their solitary journeys along the river. In the middle of this park stands a monument. Placed there by the Catholic college on the other side of the road, the top of the metallic black pillar is the highest point around. The cross that stands atop this monument looks down over the cliff, the forest and the water.

There are four mismatched bikes locked to the fence surrounding the park. They are accompanied by the shouts of youthful adventure, rising from the forest among the rustling of leaves and the occasional snapping of a branch underfoot. The boys thrash through the woods. Later they will climb the cliff to look over the water. They will be stunned by what they have seen, and will give added significance to what they find discarded in the cracks of the sandstone, the spent items foreshadowing their impending adolescence, an adolescence where innocence has already been buried, a lonely funeral that only these four boys will attend, even though they don’t know the name of the man who died.

To the right of the monument and the cliff there is a stream of urban runoff that feeds into the river. Further upstream, there is a small elegant waterfall, surrounded by tranquil overgrown dirt paths. The rock cleft under the waterfall is covered with thick moss. The mist that is left floating in the air as the mass water plunges downward obscures the scene, spreading the smell of uncanny moisture through the trees.