A little thing I wrote for English class about Thoreau, and I figured I'd post it up here since America wormed his way into it :] Thoreau's a neat guy, look him up if you don't know who he is. This is from his point of view.
It was tiring, always living on my lonesome, with nothing but trees and the occasional wildlife for company. At times like these I retired to my good friend Emerson's house, in desire of spirits and a brief exchange of words.
It was times like these he questioned me, asking again why I am going through with this. I remembered like it was yesterday—the memory had blurred so little with time—his reaction to my sudden epiphany:
"Will you not get lonely by yourself, amid the woods?" He questioned, pure curiosity in his voice, nothing more.
I shook my head at the concept, thinking myself indeed impervious to such trivial things. "No, not I. This will prove our theories, our ideologies. I myself will prove that man can get along on the near basics."
"I see," Emerson replied, but ever-inquisitive, a trait I admired in him, he queried further. "Surely you intend to break now and again? To visit me, even, I oblige you."
"Perhaps," I voiced, honored by the offer from my colleague. "Mayhap I might, should my forced solitude become too great. I will see how long I last."
And so I had departed to embark on my personal quest amid the wilderness. My cabin was threadbare and slipshod, the wind blowing through and rain seeping in, whenever there came a storm. They seemed so much more violent, out here, on my lonesome, but also more peaceful. The rain would pound, and the wind would blow, and the sounds would be beautiful music to my ears, the very essence of unadulterated nature.
But there came times when I regressed to human vices, the desire for drink, the longing for company—and it was then I would make the short journey to Emerson's to catch up and see where life had led him since we last met.
The first time we met, he had been a teacher to me, I his protégé, but with time we progressed to a friendship of sorts, evened out with experience. Yet, still he intrigued me with his thoughts on the most mundane of daily matters.
On this particular stopover, he happened to have another guest visiting. I offered to come back in awhile, bide my time for another few days before returning, but he waved it off.
"It's not a problem at all," he assured, clasping a hand on my shoulder. "In fact, he would be quite glad to meet you. He seems to be rather smitten with you."
"Is that so?" I wondered aloud, obviously curious. This venture had been for my own ends, not for any following of mine, for really, it had not seemed that one existed. But I was curious, and so I followed my old friend further into his humble abode, to be met with the sight of a fair-haired youth.
He glanced up at my arrival, a bright grin alighting over his childish features. The boy could hardly be of adult age, his appearance was so.
"Alfred F. Jones," He introduced, extending his right hand in the proper formality. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance sir."
"Indeed it is," I smiled, watching as his eyes returned the expression, such a brilliant azure as I had never seen. "And to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"In my studies, I heard word of your venture here, and wished to meet such a man in the flesh. I had figured talking to Mister Emerson would be the closest I would get, not that he is not a fine man in his own right.
"I simply admire your outlook, both of you, and your determination to prove this fascinating point. If the opportunity arises, I would like to try such a thing myself for first hand experience. The idea of living among nature, free of the corrupt distractions of society…it appeals to me so."
"I see," I returned, a genuine smile over-taking my features this time. As much as I was a scholar for my own right, a theorist and adventurer for my own personal betterment and well-being. To have such an impact would strike pride into the heart of any good man. To influence the youth in our country, affect minds that would later grow in ways resulting from one's impact. Such a sensation is the reason, I conjectured, must be the reason teachers decide to pass on their knowledge, as Emerson had with me.
An hour or so passed with pleasant talk, I decided to curtail this visit a short one and return once more to my solitude. The boy shook my hand heartily once more, and bid me good day and good fortune on my continued endeavor. I returned much a similar response, expressing my delight for him to follow such a path as I had, once the occasion presented itself.
As I journeyed back to my cottage, my humble abode in the wilderness, I watched the birds flit from tree to tree, the air breezy and light with spring's finest scents. Flowers with their brilliant garb spread wide, such colors in evidence. And deer galloped by, nervous school children evading a stern headmaster.
It was truly a beautiful sight. For times like this, it was, that I did not regret my decision to embark on this quest. Out here, in this wildness, there were beauty and ideas that never surfaced in the busy world of industry and such. A scent of freedom so potent, it would drive any man to gaiety with the first whiff.
For this, this purity, I decided to venture into these recesses. And it was for the same clarity that I remained.