End of Year Tribute

This year is my last at ESCHEL, the coop I've attended for about four years. Can't say I'm sorry to go. Anyway, all the 10th graders are supposed to write a little end of year note, and I liked mine so much I thought I'd post it here.

       Well, ESCHEL is almost over. That’s nothing new. But this time, it’s the last “over.” Over is for always. And I’m sad. Now, don’t get me wrong. There were those days where slowly burning my assignments in a gigantic bonfire while running around the blaze and whooping like a frustrated Indian sounded pretty good. Is there any sane highschool student who hasn't felt like that at some point between November and April? I don’t think so. But ESCHEL has helped me grow, spiritually and educationally. I've made two of the most important friendships I will ever make. I've learned how to cite APA research papers. I've learned not to puke at a fish’s fermented innards. I've learned that I can write a good essay in half-an-hour (believe me, a two years ago, that felt like walking up Mt. Everest without an oxygen tank). I can’t imagine a better preparation for my life as I enter the new, big world of college classes. So now, as I wave my hand in farewell, I can smile and look back with fondness on the memories I made, and who I am now compared to what I was then. Thank you.         

-Karly Lunda

Psalm 39:7

And now, O Lord, for what do I wait? My hope is in you.

Luke 1:37

For nothing will be impossible with God.

The plight of a restless soul, Spring.

    The world waits. The sun shines. The air is a pair of arms, open, sweeping wide in a welcome embrace. Each house has its own shining curtain of water, a private rainstorm. A December world is slowly melting away into April's bubbling laughter. Water, frozen just seconds before, bounds down ditches and off roofs. Widening black earth. Green shoots uncurling into the warming air.

The becoming widens.

    One knows how important this is. All can feel it. The air is welcoming. Swelling . Homecoming.
Of a Joy eternal, sighs the wind. Spring is here. The air so clear, the time of waiting while summer draws near. Ever beautiful.
     Little things are born. Little things stir in the hearts of people, things frozen by a wind that blows not just from the north. Of love and happiness, mirth and goodwill. What a One we have to look to. Who could create such perfection?

     I come back to earth. The ground is muddy, the snow a mixture of what looks like slushy tar and coffee grounds, the buds hanging on to the trees for dear life. Water is everywhere. Creeping into basements, roaring through ditches. Everything is about as wet as the inside of a water balloon.

Do we care? Nope.

   

Throb

The throb of a heartbeat

How to describe it?

Throb. Throb. Throb. Throb.

Like the love of a thing is ripping

Ripping out your heart for love of--

Motion. A throb of

Pain.

Silence.

Standing in the wings of fate--

The curtain rises.

Pressed against black velvet

It’s a feeling I’ll never forget.

The lights blind me across the stage,

No one moves as dancers move slowly forward.

The music swells in mounting rage--

I set my feet before me

Prepare. Wait.

Go.

Tuel swirls around my knees,

Cool air--the kind

only found in large places--

Brushes my bare arms

My feet move me through spaces

Move me to other places

I dance the stage into submission.

Shock after shock shakes me

I feel muscle--my muscle

struggling, striving, racing, diving--

My feet hit the ground time and time again

Shock. After. Shock.

Only after the dance is finished

I realize my lungs are heaving

My breathing ran out of control

Sweat breaks on my cheeks

But what do I care?

I smile--I’m so happy!

We’ve succeeded--we’ve done it!

I join hands with the others

And set my foot behind the other

Letting the applause wash over me,

Grinning like a fool, but not caring.  

My hands go up,

We bow-- more applause

Then...the curtain closes--

All is over.

Silence.

We try to fill the sudden void,

But the emptiness we cannot avoid.

I walk off the stage, making my way

To feel my heart throb another day

To make room for the next set

To stand in the wings of fate.