My best friend and I recently went hiking in the woods that were in our childhood neighborhood. These woods were magical to us as kids. At Christmas time, the local minister and small chorus sang carols at the opening of the small forest. All the neighborhood families and their kids gathered around to join in the singing and wait for the grand finale — Santa Claus, who came booming out of the woods along with his elves and several big bags filled with presents. The presents were doled out to all the kids who reveled in the mystery that Santa Claus was indeed, real.
We also took our sleds through the woods to taunt one another to go down “suicide hill.” When my friend and I looked down it the other day, we actually got dizzy wondering how anyone could survive a run down the steepest, narrowest hill around. Caveat here, though, neither my friend nor I ever dared risk that run, which was mostly relegated to the boys.
Then there are the tanks. They still loom as monsters, but they no longer serve their original purpose, was to hold water as an overflow to the reservoir which provided water to most of the city of Rochester. Today they are merely a canvas for local artists.
The other day, my friend told me that some of our classmates used to swim in them on hot days. Looking at them today, I wonder how they got in and out, and how they didn’t encounter disaster. The thoughts give me chills.
Well, anyway, take a look at the picture. Look closely and you will see the miniscule human providing context to the size of the tanks.
madmuser 