The Town and its Shadows
Claire Kuehn
The sky is clear. It is as fair as a newborn’s skin, as fine as crisp white words written by a perfectionist on a chalkboard. Not a cloud limits the vast expanse of good weather, while the sun doesn't dare bear down with brutal force. Instead, it softly waits out of focus as it caresses the day. Like the clouds, the breeze is also too romantic to spoil such a lovely day, sighing in contentment and saving its rage for a different time.
The town sits gratefully underneath the grace of the sky, and in return for its good fortune vows to put its best house forward. To do this, the houses paint themselves white and stand with straight, church-going backs. Plumping up with pride, the trees burst with lush life, nearly overshadowing the majesty of the town and earning the disapproval of the houses. But in such fine circumstances, even the vain residences are able to put an optimistic spin on the concealment of their beauty--it makes them more mysterious, they tell themselves.
Neither the trees nor the houses mention the girls. Though the sun gives its love freely to all, the egocentric sky refuses to acknowledge the existence of the three girls and keeps a definite distance. This aloofness is reflected by the trees and houses; however, the hunger for gossip compels the windows of some to peek around the branches of the trees, only to snap their shutters and shades shut should their glances be caught.
Unaware of the poorly disguised interest from the town, the three girls stand united against the cheerfulness of the day. They stand on a bridge at the entrance to the town, disconnected from the municipality yet undeniably under its domain. One daydreams out over the streets of the town itself. Another contemplates the space across the water, perhaps making plans for an escape.
The last girl stares down at her reflection, her hair loose to be teased by the wind. Her white dress matches the town, but this is misleading and in fact offends the town very much. This is because the town is in fact a hypocrite, and loathes the girl for appearing to be what she is not. The only way to see the girl for what she really is would be to peer into her face and delve into her expression.
Yet, alas, her face is turned down to the river. Only one other than she can read the thoughts on her face: the river. Frustrated, the town tries to lean into the wind, attempting to catch the garbled words that the water whispers up to the girl with the hidden face. The trees also rustle their leaves in an effort to coax the breeze into fetching the conversation, but it is all for naught.
The breeze would never spoil the secrets of a blighted romance, and too many years has the river spent meandering its way past the town. The river, once straight as the town but now bent with past tragedies, knows to speak softly and sighs along, already half in love with that mournful creature reflected into its rippling waters. It would be difficult not to fall for such a kindred spirit, the girl with the hidden face, whom the town despises.
The gorgeous sunny day is ruined for the town by its need to banish its shadows--its need to flush out every secret unknown to it, and to fill up its ignorance with stolen knowledge. But, of course, the houses and trees would never admit this in the company of the sky, and so sit with all the appearance of gratitude. Yet underneath, a seething frustration boils, cooking up rumors and assumptions, which only add to the shade.
The town sits gratefully underneath the grace of the sky, and in return for its good fortune vows to put its best house forward. To do this, the houses paint themselves white and stand with straight, church-going backs. Plumping up with pride, the trees burst with lush life, nearly overshadowing the majesty of the town and earning the disapproval of the houses. But in such fine circumstances, even the vain residences are able to put an optimistic spin on the concealment of their beauty--it makes them more mysterious, they tell themselves.
Neither the trees nor the houses mention the girls. Though the sun gives its love freely to all, the egocentric sky refuses to acknowledge the existence of the three girls and keeps a definite distance. This aloofness is reflected by the trees and houses; however, the hunger for gossip compels the windows of some to peek around the branches of the trees, only to snap their shutters and shades shut should their glances be caught.
Unaware of the poorly disguised interest from the town, the three girls stand united against the cheerfulness of the day. They stand on a bridge at the entrance to the town, disconnected from the municipality yet undeniably under its domain. One daydreams out over the streets of the town itself. Another contemplates the space across the water, perhaps making plans for an escape.
The last girl stares down at her reflection, her hair loose to be teased by the wind. Her white dress matches the town, but this is misleading and in fact offends the town very much. This is because the town is in fact a hypocrite, and loathes the girl for appearing to be what she is not. The only way to see the girl for what she really is would be to peer into her face and delve into her expression.
Yet, alas, her face is turned down to the river. Only one other than she can read the thoughts on her face: the river. Frustrated, the town tries to lean into the wind, attempting to catch the garbled words that the water whispers up to the girl with the hidden face. The trees also rustle their leaves in an effort to coax the breeze into fetching the conversation, but it is all for naught.
The breeze would never spoil the secrets of a blighted romance, and too many years has the river spent meandering its way past the town. The river, once straight as the town but now bent with past tragedies, knows to speak softly and sighs along, already half in love with that mournful creature reflected into its rippling waters. It would be difficult not to fall for such a kindred spirit, the girl with the hidden face, whom the town despises.
The gorgeous sunny day is ruined for the town by its need to banish its shadows--its need to flush out every secret unknown to it, and to fill up its ignorance with stolen knowledge. But, of course, the houses and trees would never admit this in the company of the sky, and so sit with all the appearance of gratitude. Yet underneath, a seething frustration boils, cooking up rumors and assumptions, which only add to the shade.