

Last Monday in our class Dr. Conway showed a painting called The dream of the reason where the fury of the nature is more powerful than a human being. What I’m about to tell you is not a painting or a story is a real life fact. This painting brought many memories in my mind. I come from the Caribbean a place that is very similar to the paradise in Earth with leafy mountains, giant trees of ceibas exuberances flowers and birds, and the beach is bathed by the Atlantic Ocean. It was a Friday of 1974. The season of hurricanes and heavy rains had begun in La Ceiba. The hurricane Fifí caused trauma in me, as a young lady of fourteen years, having experienced the horrific natural phenomenon. My city was flooded up to 20 feet; there were humans and animals floating on the water. It was a disaster and after the hurricane the inhabitants of La Ceiba were without their house and those that had the fortune of there house not being taken by the fury of the water were mourning a family members death. There were weeks that we could not be fed suitably, since all the foods were contaminated. A paradise in earth has become hell on earth. That day I saw and felt the force of nature and realize how small the human being is to its power. One of the American poets of romanticism, who I admire, is William Cullen Bryant poem “To a Waterfowl”, because in line 27 of his poem states that God will guide and protect us in our journey through life. This is exactly how I felt that day God was protecting me from the force of the hurricane. In line 29 he mentions the “Zone” here I believe he is referring to different regions of the earth marked by differences of climate. To conclude this poem suggests that god actually intervenes in the universe to provide guidance to humanity. Thus, I think that God created nature and even when we are presented with situation like the one I confronted he is always there. It was beautiful, but it was just another side of nature that we are not accustoming to.
“To a Waterfowl”
By William Cullen Bryant
Whither, ‘midst falling dew,
While glows the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue?
Thy solitary way?
Vainly the fowler’s eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.
Seek’st thou the splashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side?
There is a power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, --
The desert and illimitable air, --
Lone wandering, but not lost.
All day thy wings have fann’d
At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere;
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark of night is near.
And soon that toil shall end,
Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend
Soon o’er thy sheltered nest.
Thou’rt gone, the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou has given,
And shall not soon depart.
He, who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must treat alone,
Will lead my steps aright. (1815/1821)