The foaming stream

                                                --------Jesse   (Original)

      There is a stream between the wilderness and the civilisation, but it is certainly not the thorough bounary line. Once in a while, possibly just a wink can flash away five hundred years. Just in the same wink, there is a great change between the civiled side and the other wild side. who makes the change? Not the foaming stream, it is only the witness of the change.

      Nothing can last all the way. What is the foaming stream? You can call it Time, and it will, perhaps, be willing to be called that. It is not dumb, but it always remains silent, just nodding now and then. The above is just a wedge, of the following story.

 

                      The foaming stream

                                (1)

      This is a little stream in the wilderness, over which there is no bridge, and perhaps never will. It is 12 feet wide. For some moths, butterflies, dragonflies, and birds, they can fly naturally over it. For the animals and beasts, they never intend to cross it.

      The other side of the stream lies a vast and wide grassland, covered with green grass and some bushes. This side are birch forests, a little mixed up with some pine trees.

      Far away on the horizon stands a chain of snow-capped mountains. Melting snowwater flows down to the feet of the mountains, and then converges into a stream. The strength from the wilderness makes it foam along forward.

      Here embraces the orignal beauty of the wild nature. It's virgin without any influence of the mankind, and everything exists without even any trace of the passing years.

      At the extremely remote end of the grassland, one can say, on the horizonline, rises, once in a while, cooking smoke. There are herdsmen herding their sheep and cattle over there.

      The stream is the dividing line of the wilderness and the human civilisation.

                                     (2)

      Never has a herdsman had any intention to cross the stream over, because they have no idea of its existence. They just watch the sacred snowmountains and the luxuriant forests. Yet they never see the stream from far, for it is hidden between the bushes and the forests.

      Is the foaming stream lusid? They never know and perhaps  never will.

      The cooking smokes rising from the yurts become thicker, at a far distance,  and the stream gets more torrential. The sounds of singing and dancing at night echo the rustles of birch trees.

      Day after day, the herdsmen graze their livestock nearer to the forests, because of the rapid growth of their cattle.

      Of course, every autumn they will as usual drift away with their herds, leaving the grassland for a short rest.

      The following year, they will come back with tents, herds and joy, of course, in order to enjoy a green grassland.

      Where have they gone? Perhaps the farthest end of the horizen.

                                       (3)

      Not a sign of rain. For continuous months, there is no rain at all falling to the thirsty land. Then, winter comes, bringing snow here. A heavy snowfall takes the grassland by surprise. Water pays an unexpected visit to the land, not with rain, but with snow. In any case, they will suffer a lot from the great snowfall.

      The herdsmen can sit by a fire eating  sweet mutton and drinking milk and wine, yet  there is not enough straw prepared for the livestock.

     This is a disastrous winter in their memories.

      The following spring, things get evern worse. A large amount of sheep fall ill, and an infectious disease flashes across the whole grassland.

     In the same fall, grass turnes yellow much earlier than before, and it withers too early for herdsmen to notice.

      The fierce winter comes with no snow, but a sandstorm. Cold wind blows like razor-blade, together with the shooting bullets of quick sands.

      The herdsmen looked sadly over at the snow-clad mountians. They whisper their prayers and finally say prayers louder. Heavens, where is the way out?

     Not an answering sound is heard around them, except the rustles from the remote forests.

      A lad in warm sheep-skin turns away and bends over a little. At last, he kneels down with his bare head on the sandland. Just by his left side a little girl rubs her eyes in the sandstorm.

      "In a wink, I'm grown up, and in the same wink, the grassland is too old,  to recognize......"

                                    (4)

      At the very last, they can't wait in silence and they have to act, otherwise they will fatally be dying. The herdsmen, as well as their herds move willy-nilly westward until they find themselves at the earthen bank of the stream, which they have never imagined. The sight of the stream makes them all startled.

      To their greater atonishment, it is still torrential in this fierce cold winter. There is not any sheet of ice on it, and they have got no wings, how could they fly across? They have not way back. How could they make their way across the wide foaming stream?

      Snowflakes keep flying down hard and heavily. It is towards dusk.

      All is silent and quiet, and it is getting darker and darker.

      No choice. They are desparately in despair. They anxiously whip the herds into the icy water, and then they followed.

      Only the foaming stream looks at the cruel struggling scenes. In the stream, heads bob up and down, and some sheep flow away downstream. Kids are carried on the shoulders and backs of their parents, yet they drift away with their parent.

      Cries and screaming sounds for help cover the silent stream. But no help comes, even a ray of help. 

      The following day, the first dawn glow only catches the sight of a lad standing on the west bank, beside whom a little girl is shivering in the cold wind.

      The foaming stream flows deeply and silently.In the wind comes the rustles of the birch trees and pine trees.

      08-07-14    2:35--4:10pm