This is an essay I did when in writing class. I am thinking of expanding it into an actual story. Maybe for young children. If you read it let me know what you think??
Being seven years old and walking into the jungle of my parents native country was an experience, this Los Angeles native will never forget. Stepping into the trail my senses became alive. I could hear the animals and feel the tesxture’s of the most beautiful sight in frount of me. I could taste the richness of the air. I shivered with anticipation to observe my land that I’ve missed and haven’t explored until now.
Closing my eyes, my ears slowly open and capture the beautiful primal songs so I immerse myself and tuned out all other music I have learned to love. Chirping, whistling; an occasional rustle of branches and objects falling around set a rhythmical ballad that set a calm feeling over me. Grabbing my father’s hand, I ask him to dance with me, to twirl me in this musical symphony that only this place can give us. Smiling we waltz until we were rudely interrupted by the conductor’s growl showing his displeasure.
Trees, leaves, and exotic flowers feel smooth under my fingers. The smooth texture reminds me of my mother’s nurturing touch. Of course, not all the beautiful natural habitat is calm and forgiving. Some wildlife plants are vicious to the touch or others can be so deceiving. I catch my breath when I see before me the most unique red blood blue pedal flower. Transfixed on her beauty I lean closer to feel and smell her, while my hand slowly goes to touch her beautiful body. My hands tremble at the roughness of her stem. Sliding my finger outside her outline I will soon see how deceiving she is. “Be careful Liza.” My Tio warned, “This one lets you get close, and then, closes on you. That’s how this flower survives.” I keep looking at her transfixed while my finger is slowly being wrapped by her beautiful pedals. Slowly I feel her small but vicious thorns pinning into my finger. Quickly my Tio cuts her beautiful stem and I see her white blood seeping out. I feel her slipping away while her pedals slowly unwraps itself from my finger. “I told you be careful.” My Tio says. A tear of shame and loss rolls down my face, because of me and my thrust to touch her has cost her death.
I followed my Tio’s instruction and close my eyes. I slowly open my mouth while I inhale the air around me. Just like he said, the air tastes as if I were drinking fresh water. Looking to my left I have an amazing waterfall. I stretch my neck upwards and it seems the waterfall is as tall as the sky. I look down and I only see white foam round a hole that should have a small lake or creek to hold this water. My father scoops some mist from the leaves and takes a drink. He smiles and tells me to do the same. Thaking a sip of the water I want to put it in a gallon bottle and take it home with me.
I have heard countless stories about the jungle of Guatemala from my parents. I always imagined it to be beautiful. To witness the music from the animals, feel the soothness of the plant life and to be able to taste the jungles flavor just by inhaling the air. This Los Angeles native has become even for a moment a native Guatemalian.