Baggage Handler #2
2nd Lieutenant
- Joined
- May 6, 2008
- Location
- Old Northwest Territory
Monday, downtown Chattanooga.
The more I look at the Tennessee Aquarium's two buildings, the more I wonder if I should be seeing more than I am. They stand next to each other, several stories tall, with oddly shaped glass roofs. Each roof is split into two halves with each half looking more like a quarter of a pyramid than anything else I can think of. I move a half block toward the river thinking that if the two disjointed sections of the nearer roof phase into some sort of alignment, a mystery of design will be revealed. On reaching that point, I pause for a minute or so and consider the buildings carefully. The only thing that strikes me is that the rooftop with the butterfly house is now completely hidden and any secrets or riddles the architect hid in this design are safe from me. The sky beyond the aquarium holds nothing back, however, and after several days of rain, I can read sun for tomorrow as clearly as if it was written longhand. But that is the way of it, isn't it? There is no hand of man or child that can hold back Spring or stop the rain - or the sun, and I smile at the thought before returning to my family.
it escapes me
Tuesday.
Sunrise breaks against our cabin in waves of light, flying in all at once through any flaw in the curtains or gap around the door. Outside, from the overlook just behind the cabin, we can see the fog patiently holding down the valley, and with equal patience, we wait for it to burn off before heading to Chickamauga. I know from my own childhood memory how overwhelming a battlefield can be for a kid, particularly a younger one. As a rule, then, I try to know one part of the story, a part that grabs the imagination and can be explained quickly and accurately to a 1st or 2nd grader. Today, although we will make more than one stop, I want to see Rosecrans' HQ, and the story I can tell is from Ambrose Bierce's account of the fatal gap in Rosecrans' line: "A Little of Chickamauga" "... to my astonishment I saw the entire country in front swarming with Confederates; the very earth seemed to be moving toward us! They came on in thousands, and so rapidly that we had barely time to turn tail and gallop down the hill and away..."
It is a trivial walk across bare ground from where we park near Dyer Road to Rosecrans' HQ marker (near enough to the site of Bierce's observation for my purposes), and I tell my son the story as we approach the minor ridge that defines the position. He, however, looks doubtful, for the sky is clear and the sun is all business today. It must seem to him a vast, hostile, barren space. Anxious for some distraction, I notice a small butterfly as it flits past his face and lands, next to another, at his feet. He leans down to get a better look and holds out a finger, on which the first butterfly promptly lands, and in this fashion, we walk - carefully - toward the stacked cannonballs denoting a general's position. I glance over the lower ground to my left and mutter to myself those words "the very earth seemed to be moving" but it's no use. The sky is too cheerful and the earth is even at that moment shrugging off the spell of winter. So instead I look again at the butterfly, and consider it carefully for a few moments. Not really looking for any riddle or mystery, I am instead filled with a sense of gratitude and appreciation. It is enough, today, simply to take this moment and enjoy it.
The more I look at the Tennessee Aquarium's two buildings, the more I wonder if I should be seeing more than I am. They stand next to each other, several stories tall, with oddly shaped glass roofs. Each roof is split into two halves with each half looking more like a quarter of a pyramid than anything else I can think of. I move a half block toward the river thinking that if the two disjointed sections of the nearer roof phase into some sort of alignment, a mystery of design will be revealed. On reaching that point, I pause for a minute or so and consider the buildings carefully. The only thing that strikes me is that the rooftop with the butterfly house is now completely hidden and any secrets or riddles the architect hid in this design are safe from me. The sky beyond the aquarium holds nothing back, however, and after several days of rain, I can read sun for tomorrow as clearly as if it was written longhand. But that is the way of it, isn't it? There is no hand of man or child that can hold back Spring or stop the rain - or the sun, and I smile at the thought before returning to my family.
it escapes me
Tuesday.
Sunrise breaks against our cabin in waves of light, flying in all at once through any flaw in the curtains or gap around the door. Outside, from the overlook just behind the cabin, we can see the fog patiently holding down the valley, and with equal patience, we wait for it to burn off before heading to Chickamauga. I know from my own childhood memory how overwhelming a battlefield can be for a kid, particularly a younger one. As a rule, then, I try to know one part of the story, a part that grabs the imagination and can be explained quickly and accurately to a 1st or 2nd grader. Today, although we will make more than one stop, I want to see Rosecrans' HQ, and the story I can tell is from Ambrose Bierce's account of the fatal gap in Rosecrans' line: "A Little of Chickamauga" "... to my astonishment I saw the entire country in front swarming with Confederates; the very earth seemed to be moving toward us! They came on in thousands, and so rapidly that we had barely time to turn tail and gallop down the hill and away..."
It is a trivial walk across bare ground from where we park near Dyer Road to Rosecrans' HQ marker (near enough to the site of Bierce's observation for my purposes), and I tell my son the story as we approach the minor ridge that defines the position. He, however, looks doubtful, for the sky is clear and the sun is all business today. It must seem to him a vast, hostile, barren space. Anxious for some distraction, I notice a small butterfly as it flits past his face and lands, next to another, at his feet. He leans down to get a better look and holds out a finger, on which the first butterfly promptly lands, and in this fashion, we walk - carefully - toward the stacked cannonballs denoting a general's position. I glance over the lower ground to my left and mutter to myself those words "the very earth seemed to be moving" but it's no use. The sky is too cheerful and the earth is even at that moment shrugging off the spell of winter. So instead I look again at the butterfly, and consider it carefully for a few moments. Not really looking for any riddle or mystery, I am instead filled with a sense of gratitude and appreciation. It is enough, today, simply to take this moment and enjoy it.
"To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved." — George MacDonald
Bringing the