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Reflecting

Reflecting by Harrison Snyder

The early summer storms have rolled into northeastern Indiana once more. They hang suspended above our heads, pregnant with rich rain. They seem to search, or even beg, for a chance to split open and soak the black earth with their gift of water. They shake the mighty oaks with even mightier gusts and threaten the pines with their fiery blue-green lightning. Yes, the early summer rains have once again found their home in northeastern Indiana, and I have to say they make me think.  

Their thick, grey masses seem to be a screen on which my amber locked memories come to life. With the storms come change. Change in season, change in temperature, change in life. This year, they seem to bring with them more change than ever before. They bring new beginnings, sad endings and tales that are yet to be told. This year they mark the end of a journey, of an era, in every young hoosier’s heart. Especially they bring a change for me. The summer storms come and my years in high school end.  

As I look back over my past four years, I find myself remembering all the things a good midwestern boy should: proms, parties, bonfires, bicycles and the most beautiful girl. All of the sweet defining moments that grace the plot of any coming-of-age odyssey.  

I also think of all the things I’ve done, awards I should’ve won and places I wish I had gone. The people I’ve met, the people who’ve met me and the people who fell to the wayside. I reminisce like an old salt about days on a sea that never was there. But there’s nothing wrong with the rose colored sunglasses of nostalgia in the final week of your senior year. That’s what it’s meant for after all.  

I find myself looking back in the stormy nights just as I see myself staring into the horizon of my future. In these grey-blue creations of Zeus that batter the field of my Hoosier home, I begin to grapple with the passage of time and the facts of the real world. I see my childhood pass with each bolt and hear my memories fade with each great thunder clap. I know the storms are warning me that the future rough and full of stones, but deep inside a small force that I’ve never felt before ensures me that it will be okay, that I will weather the storm, and so I do. I suppose that voice is the voice of maturity and I suppose it makes me an adult in a way.  

Then, when the storms have lifted, I find myself consumed by silence, engulfed in the still of the night. The storms have finished speaking their wisdom and I know to head their advice.  

The early summer storms have once again settled over northeastern Indiana, and they once again share their knowledge. They speak of the memories that will forever be mine, the changes that are yet to come and the strength that is within. They proclaim the truth.  

Yes, the early summer storms have rolled into northeastern Indiana, I urge you to hear what they have to say.  
 

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