By Elijah Silva
PROMPT — The way I see it ...
In the realm of walks home from my campus to the myriad of apartment complexes directly to the south, a heavily debated topic is the proper way to get up and down the inconveniently large hill that divides the two areas. It is generally agreed that the furthest west set of stairs is the worst one. It is a nearly nonstop flight cutting straight up the side of the hill, winding even the most athletic of students. What it lacks in ease of use is not made up for by aesthetic pleasure, as the trees on either side are too dense and unkempt to enjoy any other scenery as one struggles their way up. The other two methods are a winding set of stairs further east, and an entry into a building followed by a ride up an elevator. Most of my friends prefer the elevator method, but I prefer to meander up the stairs, listening to the birds, looking at the ducks, and gazing upon the sunlight filtering through the leaves. While taking this route home one day, a pair of students ahead of me caught my eye. Their hands swung as they walked alongside one another, deep in conversation, and at one point, the arcs collided, causing their hands to brush momentarily. Nothing was said to address it, but they moved apart slightly, seemingly flustered. Nothing spectacular happened. The birds continued their melodies. The leaves fluttered in the wind. The bugs crawled along in the dirt. But I smiled.
Elijah Silva is a student at Brigham Young University. He is pursuing a Bachelor of Arts degree in English, with a minor in Philosophy. Elijah is decidedly not a professional writer, but most certainly enjoys it. He can be found at home, picking up new hobbies that he will drop in two weeks, at coffee shops, where he either draws or writes, or in the mountains near his home, searching for the perfect place for his eventual exit from society. Elijah writes from Provo, Utah.
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