Recreating Twain’s “Two Views of the River”

When I return to an epic that is nothing less than an anomaly in a suburban environment I only perceive a small rock formation that has crudely formed over erosion and high levels of pollution. This ten foot tower of sewage funneled by rocks is down the stream behind my house and what use to be a beautiful farm of cultivating imaginations. This was the epicenter of my adventurous wanderings of dangerous planets and jungles. It fostered my creation of stories and discoveries. If there was anyone to accompany me on my sacred ritual quests to this holy land they must have been put through the test of the ambiguous and strenuous encounter with the path to get there. Obstacles at every turn, being uncannily wary was the minimum to pass these challenges. Then once we had arrived at our destination we would enjoy the majesty of the waterfall and take in the essence of its beauty, and then to respectively frolic among her pillars and cliffs. It was a ceremony performed on multiple occasions. In comparison with any other experience none challenges the jubilancy of these experiences.
Now I have gone back to what I once saw as a geographical art. My eyes have aged and they have seen more than that of my younger self. I saw no masterpiece that day. I have seen the open quarry of the Grand Canyon, the rolling terrain of France, the beautiful waters of the tropics. I have seen better than this meager collection of waste slapped behind a suburban neighborhood. It would be impressive because of its location yet it is such a dump you wouldn’t be able to tell it from a mishap in a plumbing repair. This is only a reminder to us of our irresponsibility in caring for our environment. There is no more beauty left in this rock formation. It is only nostalgic of my adolescence and my naivety.
I had no more care for this old friend, I wish I did. I miss out on what I use to express as a place I could enjoy. I don’t have anything like that anymore. My visions of beauty were taken from me