Summers on the Missouri River

The trees and the eerie dim light called to me. Sweet sounds came from the winds blowing the grasses. Rustling leaves, in various shades of greens and oranges and yellows blended together. Yet the sight that drew me to the very spot was the water. Like a sheet of glass, reflecting the darkening sky, clear and pure. An image unshattered by boats and people, who normally fill the air with lauging and yelling and boat motors.

That was the difference. It was quiet, except for the nature. This was the river uninhabited by children cooling off in it's shallow waters, and adults lounging on the sandbars.

I loved the river. I loved it with people, when it was full of vibrant life, throwing frisbees and building sand castles with neon shovels and buckets. I also loved it as the day drew to an end. While the summer night air warmed me, and I sat alone on a red bench along the riverbank, staring at the water's glossy surface.

The houses on the other bank of the river seemed so far away, yet I could faintly see lights glowing inside windows. A lone boat glided through the water, cutting it, yet it's motor droned quietly. A sound so small it was like a gentle hum.

This place meant so much to me. It was my summer. It was next summer. And it was always there, waiting for the time when the days would grow longer, and the sun would shine. It would wait for fall to turn to winter, winter to spring, and finally, spring to summer.

I would wait too. Not always so patiently, but I would. I couldn't wait to play catch in shallow waters, swim, grill on sandbars, fly vivdly colored kites, and be bathed in sunlight. I am aching for summer.