Valley Beyond the River

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic

There lies a valley beyond the river, where promises of riches and of treasures lures dreamers and pioneers to cross the shallow muddied waters to plush green pastures and virgin fields. It is like honey to a bumble bee. There lies a place beyond the river, with the allure of the golden glow of sun-drenched images of God’s promised land of milk and honey, and of dreams that lift the spirits of the wretched and the meek.

VALLEY BEYOND THE RIVER

By Al Garcia

There lies a valley beyond the river, where promises of riches and of treasures lures dreamers and pioneers to cross the shallow muddied waters to plush green pastures and virgin fields.  It is like honey to a bumble bee.  There lies a place beyond the river, with the allure of the golden glow of sun-drenched images of God’s promised land of milk and honey, and of dreams that lift the spirits of the wretched and the meek. 

There was a time of innocence and of hope.  A time before the tangled weeds of greed and unveiled passions began to overtake the beauty and the majesty of dreams with roots beyond the river’s edge.

To breath the clean fresh air and smell the richness of the earth below.  To feel the soil on calloused hands and taste the bitter sweat dripping down the brown and tattered face that toiled beneath the scorching noonday sun.  To become a part of the land, of the sky, of the wind that blows across the meadows.  That was the allure and the magic of the valley beyond the river.  That was the simplicity of life, and of living once upon a time, when dreams inspired the soul and the imagination.

Now, the winds of time have blown the dreams aside.  Left are bitter memories and scars too deep to heal.  Where once the sky embraced the beauty of the landscape and the bounties of its fertile soil, now the shadows of man-made walls disrupt the harmony that was.  And the river now filled with tears and floating remnants of discarded dreams.

There lies a valley beyond the river, once filled with promise and with hope, now only a distorted glimpse of what it used to be.  There is a coldness now where once the sun embraced the beating heart of those who only sought to toiled in the fields and haul the hay and pick the fruit.  For they were the dreamers and the seekers in a time before the birth of hate, hostility and rancor replaced the decency and virtue that used to be.  They had no time to weep or moan, for they had a dream that lived, despite the cruelty and the violence. 

They became faces with no names and with no hope.  Bodies once young and straight and strong, too quickly stooped and bruised and old, beyond their time.  Withered and crushed by time, abuse and use.  They were the dreamers and the seekers who bared the sorrows and the miseries of my past.  They had no time to weep or moan.  Their blood and tears they shed without protesting or objecting.  For after all, they were only dreamers in a valley beyond the river.

There lies a valley still beyond the river, where promises have been forgotten, and where riches and treasures that once lured dreamers and pioneers to cross the shallow muddied waters to its plush green pastures and virgin fields, now unattainable, unreachable. 

The heart and soul that once blossomed and bloomed in the valley beyond the river, now withered and shriveled in a desert littered with abandoned and forsaken dreams.

Where once the wind blew across the open fields, now the sound of whimpers and of moans fills the air that caresses the plush green pastures and once virgin fields.  The allure and the golden glow that once beckoned those seeking refuge from the cold, now gone, like a shadow into the darkness of the night. 

And all that is left is a valley beyond the river, desolate and empty of what it used to nurture and grow – dreams.


Submitted: May 26, 2021

© Copyright 2021 A.Garcia. All rights reserved.

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