A Sense of Place - The Sound of Silence

Essay by NikoNicoleHigh School, 10th gradeA+, January 2009

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Each step taking me closer to the top makes me savor the air as exhaustion weakens my muscles unbearably. But the thousand years of history that were written in this very soil, which I stood upon today, feed my heart with joy, enlighten my mind and widen my eyes, encouraging me to continue. Soil which tells me about great times: times of glory and freedom, times beyond the imagination of our limited horizons. Courageous drops of sweat remain alive through years stapled to the roughness of the rock.

The sight of such magnificent sized pyramids highlights the insignificance of the individual. Yet, there you become part of it, you melt into it. This spectacle is too perfect for your eyes alone. I am part of the elements that form the scene. My nostrils find a way to block every smell but these which make of this place more than a block of stones, smells which nourish this place with life: aromas of the sun, and the fertile land, of the blue sheet of sky, aromas never smelt anywhere else, and that remain present today and forever in my mind.

The colors; shades of brown and bright yellows, harmoniously in tune with the blues and whites in the sky, all come together in a masterpiece to my sight. The taste of such dyes: flavors until now unknown to my palate. The exquisite mixture of tones invites me to give into the warmness of the place, to fully become part of it with all my senses.

The pyramids; fully wrapped in silence, the lack of words or expression felt in my skin, yet they are not needed, even though strangers to each other we can mutually comprehend that even if attempted; no words would merely come close to describing what is being seen.

The satisfaction of acknowledging being part of this colossal beauty will remain a feeling indescribable, unforgettable… It is so significant, the way it makes me feel, and the grip of the ground where I, like thousands of people through time, lay my feet, makes of my achievement a yet more personal experience. As the soil rests peacefully in my closed grasp, I hear it, a whistle in the air. It speaks of time and effort, its melody so tranquil yet steady.

My nearness to the sky allows me to smell the fresh winds blind to the eye, winds of threatening tenaciousness. However the vivid stone remained firm, showing off what kept her on feet through years, and challenging the upcoming storm to attempt to blacken its skins.

The warm colors and embracing beauty present. The smell of confidence, sound of rust, the taste of peace, how the stone feels in my fingertips and how it treats my eyes.

Though the car was shelter from the cold raindrops, the lack of warmth is near like an uninvited guest. The motor working, the stereo in order, the metal covers from the wind, yet the warm blanket is absent. The sense of completeness gone, and rural beauty seen in my mind alone for the windows show nothing more then monotonous drivers, and metallic matters attempting poorly to enclose beauty; a joke. Beautiful is the place I recently left, a place with such essence mustn’t be compared with the outsides of my window pane.

It seems that it will remain uncertain what that place had, what beautiful notes composed its melody, it appears that the scents of such perfume are, and will continue to be, a mystery to all who’ve dared smell.