Where Are You, Christmas?

          Thanks a lot, global warming.  I was looking forward to going out to the Trinity to do some reflecting while bundled in my boots and winter coat, and instead I was in a t-shirt and flip flops in the heart of December.  Unacceptable. 

          After coming to terms with the weather, I started to walk along the river seeking inspiration.  I had driven by this part of the Trinity so many times, but I had never actually stopped by the park before.  To be honest, I’m not sure if I was really missing much.  The grass was a lovely shade of pea green and baby-food yellow.  Not that you could even tell, really, since the ground was almost completely covered by a blanket of dead leaves that enthusiastically crunched under my foot with every step. 

          There was a set of train tracks there which I suppose were still in use, though I saw no train going by while I was there.  There was also a little building beside the track that favored a ye olde railway station.  It was quaint.  I rather liked it. 

          As I walked along the river bank, I was reminded of a story that my dad told me one time.  When he would take walks along the river in the early mornings, he would spot a lot of baby turtles who had managed to come pretty far ashore, a long way from their aquatic homes.  He told me that he would pick them up and lay them gently back into the water.  I was horrified by this anecdote for several reasons.  First of all, I’m no marine biologist but I feel like turtles can probably harbor several diseases that would be harmful to humans.  You don’t know where that turtle has been, Dad.  Second of all, maybe it wanted to be that far ashore.  Maybe it was trying to get out there and see the world and go on adventures, and then here you go putting it back where it started, eliminating hours or even days of hard work.  If I were that turtle, I would be ticked.  My dad is probably infamous among a certain group of river-dwelling shelled reptiles for being the one who will completely reverse a hard day’s work within seconds of coming in contact.  I wouldn’t be surprised if there were turtle neighborhood watch programs that kept an eye out for him and warned their brethren on the shores that he was coming for them.  I can only hope that somewhere in the colony, a turtle Paul Revere spots my father and rides on the back of an otter into the turtle village shouting, “The giant is coming! The giant is coming!”

          But I digress.

          I really and truly wish that I was the kind of person who found inspiration while looking out into nature.   But I just don’t think I am.  While gazing out into the Trinity, all that I noticed was how dingy it looked, and how much trash was floating around in it, and how much prettier my river picture would be if there weren’t so many ugly buildings in the background.  I didn’t think I would ever say this, but it made me miss the Indiana landscape.  In my hometown (South Bend), we have the St. Joseph River.  (We’re right at its southernmost bend.  Get it?)  Honestly, it puts the Trinity to shame.  In terms of how terrible it is, of course.  My grandma always had a running joke whenever we would drive on a bridge that would pass over the river.  She would roll down all the windows and pretend she was a tour guide.  “If you look to your right, and look to your left, you will see the glorious St. Joseph River.  And if you take a big whiff in, you will smell the glorious St. Joseph River.”  Let me just add at this point that she was not saying it because it smelled good.

          But the reason that I was now a little homesick for this lovely picture that I have painted for you was that in the winter, it’s beautiful.  The naked trees are covered with a fluffy layer of white and you feel like you are literally walking in a winter wonderland.  I looked around me in Fort Worth and all I saw was death and decay.  Certainly not the icepocalypse of yesteryear.

          Just as I was about to give up on the Trinity, I spotted two jolly little otters playing in the river.  Well, I think they were otters.  It’s been a while since I updated my prescription.  But whatever they were, they were jolly.  They didn’t care what the temperature was, or how much sewage they were swimming in; they were just happy to be alive.

          As finals loom ever nearer, it can often feel like we are swimming (or drowning, as the case may be) in a river of sewage.  Maybe we can all take a lesson from those jovial little creatures and learn to appreciate all that life has to offer. 

          After all, even if a strange giant moves you back to the river after you worked so hard to move ashore, all you can do is start crawling along again.  And who knows, maybe, if you’re lucky, my dad won’t find you this time.