Descriptive Essay - The Oasis 5h5u1w

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Jonny Woods Mr. Neuburger ENG Comp 101-101 28 January 2013 Descriptive Essay “Oasis” The sun hung lazily in the sky, climbing towards its apex in a vast ocean of cloud dotted blue, and getting closer to it as each moment ed. A light breeze blew a tumble weed across what most would consider a barren landscape and it rolled this way and that, meandering as the wind changed direction almost like it couldn’t make up its mind as to which way it should go. It went on this way for quite some time before a swift gust sent it scurrying southerly, not slowing in the slightest and sighing silently, unable to change the course of its direction, heading towards the only pock mark in a hundred miles that wasn’t dried up and dead or waiting to die. As it rolled, persuaded by an invisible hand, the environment changed significantly from a hot unrelenting desert to a lush green of life and abundance. It wasn’t long before the tumble weed stopped suddenly, caught in very much alive shrubbery, which was a stark contrast to the essence of its own existence. What was this strange place and why did it have the right to prosper when nothing around it did? How was any of this possible at all? The tumble weed had stumbled upon a desert mystery, guided as it was by the wind for some purpose that had as of yet to be discovered. The shrub that had captured it was one of many, lined up and planted in neat little rows, some with flower blooms, and some without. These landscaped plants were on the side of a building, a saloon to be precise. This saloon was located in the oasis town of Sovereince.

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Most folks believed that Sovereince was just a myth, a story told to young people to inspire hope in doomed situations, a light house set on the edge of oblivion, its only purpose to guide a hopelessly lost soul back to safety. Perhaps, it had once existed in reality a long time ago when things were different and actual change could take effect for good in the world and not just this wasteland where nothing good seemed to ever occur. Clearly it was no myth though, for here it was plain as the sign hanging over the saloon that read “Primrose Inn, Sovereince’s Finest Wine’s and Beverages.” Even more strange than the frond and fauna were the people that inhabited Sovereince. That was easy to see from the man sitting outside the saloon on a bench, feet propped up and on old wooden horse trough. It was clear the man was a Native American from the multicolored beads woven into his long braids, down to his tanned weathered skin that had seen its fair share of days in the sun. His leather attire was very tribal in nature even though it was mixed with denim jeans and a button up white dress shirt complimented by a fine vest made by someone who could only be described as a master of their craft. The strangeness continued with a polished talisman firmly attached to his vest, a five pointed star with a circle around it and made of a silver, pewter metal that read “Sheriff.” If the tumble weed were a person, its jaw would be agape with amazement and confusion at what it was seeing. Everything painted in this picture thus far was backwards from what reality in the early 1800’s should be like. Just when you thought things couldn’t be more out of place, the Indian sheriff paused in his task of carving something that would end up looking like a bird of prey, and looked up. Following his gaze, a small horse driven buggy shambled its way down a dirt road towards where he was sitting. It was coming from the direction of what could only be the town church, a good sized building with a cross attached above its double doors,

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where finely dressed people were making their way out, heading various directions to wherever they lived or needed to be. A moment later, a bell in the top of the steeple started ringing. It chimed twelve times before it stopped, signaling that midday had arrived. The reverend Constance was very good at planning her sermons to end just in time for lunch but still able to keep the integrity of her message, leaving nothing out. But wait…, a woman reverend? That couldn’t be right, could it? How could this place have so many things that seemed normal but so different by such a small twist that it changed them so dramatically? The small horse drawn carriage pulled up to the horse trough, and slowed to a stop. A finely dressed man, clearly in his “Sunday clothes,” stepped out of the driver’s side and tied the stout, well groomed mare to a pole driven into the ground. He gave the creature a good couple of rubs as it dipped its head and drank from the trough. Walking around the other side of the wagon, the man helped his beautiful wife down from the enger side of the wagon in a very gentlemanly fashion. Her ebony skin was a direct contrast to his own, but the love in their eyes for each other as he helped her down from the carriage was so deep, that after seeing it, you could not imagine them being apart. While he was assisting her, two cute little girls in matching dresses and one boy in Sunday slacks and a white shirt to match his father’s, climbed out of the back of the buggy and made their way to their parent’s side. When they were all assembled, they started for the saloon stopping before they entered to greet the sheriff. “Good day sheriff, how fairs the vigil?” The man asked. “It has been a pleasant day this afternoon kwa'ssini. The sky speaks of peace and the ground of stability. There is a scent of rain in the wind, but it is faint and will not bother us for days still yet to come. Also, there has been no breach to our sanctity even though my spirit guide hints of a

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coming occurrence.” The man nodded, understanding the wisdom in the sheriff’s words even if he didn’t understand how the sheriff could possibly know most of what he said. Just before the well-dressed family turned away to enter the saloon, the man’s wife asked, “Wont you us for lunch today Lukas? I’ve heard that James and Jonathan are making their famous roasted chicken, with dressing, baked potatoes and greens. I promise that if you do, Kyle will keep all of his drink in his glass this time.” The woman spoke in a motherly tone looking over to her son as if he should soak up the implied instructions as if he were a sponge. “Perhaps, in a few moments I will do just that Rogers family. Think nothing of the accident young Kyle made last week. It was clear that my pants were thirsty,” Sheriff Lukas said with a wink at the young man. The friendly exchange ended, and the family went inside the saloon for Sunday lunch as odd as that sounds rolling off the tongue. Lukas whittled a few more minutes on his project, working his way to a stopping point before he stood and stretched. Just before he was going to head into the saloon himself, his head snapped to the right and he was very still for what seemed like a small lifetime, quiet and intent on what only he could see. Once he was sure he had derived all he could from the heat waved distance, he stepped down off the wooden sidewalk in front of the saloon and picked up the tumble weed from where it was stuck in the shrubbery. Turning away from the brown, freshly weather proofed building, Lukas walked in silence for a time, heading the way the tumble weed had come into town. After a moment, the sheriff spoke to the tumble weed, as if it were a person he was escorting. “You have seen today what few people have. This place exists outside of the stigmatisms the world as a whole has fallen into. Take with you these ideals into the desert, and may one day

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our present be your future,” he said profoundly, setting the tumbleweed down right outside the oasis fertility and back onto the dry and sand scattered desert. Lukas stood for just a moment longer, enough to raise his hand to his mouth and blow, calling to the same wind that had brought the tumble weed there in the first place and sending it back the way it had come. As it made its way back into the desert, Sovereince faded back into myth, just like a dream fades from the memory of a waking person. The tumble weed rolled and rolled, blown about in the empty sea of sand, dried clay, and the occasional cactus, and though circle as it might, it did not find the oasis again. Even if you were able to follow its erratic course, you would know that it ed over the same place the Primrose Saloon had stood clearly in more than once. And, so the tumble weed rolled on into the evening towards setting sun bolstered by the possibility of what the future might hold, and what one day the expanse of a dead, dying desert of a world could be.