When I was young at the Thames River, I heard the birds chirping, the squirrels scurrying and the ducks quacking, all as I ran ahead of my family down to the water. I walked down the row of stones, rocks and pebbles and took a seat on the fallen tree by the shore, dangling my toes above the shady river. The currents were steady and the ripples were light, sending the pebbles I tossed in straight to the bottom.
When I was young at the Thames River, I got up as early as I could and rode my bike down to the murky waters, ready to watch the bright sun as it rose over the river. Living by the river had its perks, and this was definitely one of them. At night, I would return once again, stepping, skipping and jumping over the big rocks on my way to the rocky shore, awaiting the set of the sun, and the brightening of the moon.
When I was young at the Thames River, I would jump around in the rain, watching the water overflow. The droplets hit the water like feathers, the trees swayed in the wind like dancers and I looked as if I was crying waterfalls, raindrops covering my joyful face. As the earthy smell filled my nose and the refreshing atmosphere calmed me, I discovered a new personality trait of mine. I became a pluviophile down by this river. I knew it as I continued to smile under the moonlit rain.
As school began to start once again, I made my way down to the river along with my family, frisking about. The wind whistled around our ears, the branches snapped at us and the deers sprinted in front of the path as we walked along the road. Arriving at the water’s edge, we celebrated a sacred water festival belonging to our culture. Sending a god home as we returned to ours. When I was young at the Thames River, memories were made without even realizing it, and many more will continue to be made.
A promise I intend to keep.