Dalya W.

Niagara Falls

Water rushes down next to where I sit in my protective rock cave, damp from the splash of the falling flume.  The stream of power strikes the clear blue pool beneath me as an ocean wave slaps against a rock. White foam mixes with the translucent azure in mini whirlpools and ripples of foamy white disrupt the otherwise placid surface. The force of the slap is multiplied so much that I, hundreds of feet above, can feel the immense strength this body of water holds. An impulse compels me to join this energy. As I inch forward, nearing the edge of my secure observation bench where I am equipped with safety goggles, gloves, and a raincoat, I am awestruck at the magnificence of the diamond crystals swirling in the substance below, the cloud that rises up next to this mixture of geologically significant rocks and the perfect results this combination produces. It beckons me to leave my comfortable and safe enclosure and become a part of this fantastic and strong power. With little debate, I step forward and, leaning out to feel the water spray across my face and taste the thirst quenching liquid, I slip. I flail my arms blindly, reaching for any holding. As appealing as the falls are, I am uninterested in tumbling down at such a high velocity and being thrown onto the sandstone, shale and limestone below. There is a rock lying heavily in the pit of my stomach as fear rushes into my body, blood pounds at my head, and dread floods over the rock in my stomach deepening my sense of foreboding. As I approach the bottom of the falls I see boulders being suffocated by the water that is mercilessly tearing them apart.  I close my eyes to avoid watching my collision and feel something poke into my back. Twisting my head around and opening my eyes I find myself staring into the face of my best friend. “Jesse,” he whispers, “Mr. Jones just called on you.”  I turn to face the board and see Mr. Jones glaring at me, blatantly upset that I had once again dozed off in science class.  His left index finger points at me warningly, but in his right hand he has a liter of sparkling water. Only moments before my dry throat would have longed for a taste, but now my stomach does flips as if I just dove into a mad science experiment and was drowning in the sea of bubbles.


Copyright 2002-2007 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2007 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.