Dis-Order

Changing the order of sentences in a paragraph or short essay may change the perspective of both the author and the reader.

In the following versions of the same scenario, I changed perspective and focus by changing the order of the sentences. That sometimes led to changing the point of view and verb tense. Yet the words describing the scene and the approximate word count remained the same.

Wow I

(217 words)

My husband and I drove through the Big Stump entrance of Kings Canyon National, which abuts Giant Sequoia National Park. With its deep valleys, skyscraping trees, and distinctive rock outcroppings, the park rivals Yosemite. At least according to John Muir. I think it deserves its own dignity.

“Pull over,” I commanded. My husband complied. He knows better than to squabble when we’re in the midst of grandeur and I have camera in hand. I pointed to a small apron off the road. “Here.”

But my camera couldn’t capture what looked like a high-definition, three-dimensional picture. I stuck my hand out, as if I could touch the ethereal canvas.

Carving through steep granite valleys, thin ribbons of waterfalls merged into others, creating roaring streams. Upon this background were layers of scrubby chaparral, majestic rock outcroppings, iconic sequoias, and skyscraping conifers. Snowy peaks stood against a cloud-studded blue sky.

As I stood in wonder, I realized someone was standing next to me. In the face of an old Asian man, I saw my own awe. I wanted to share my sense of astonishment and wondered if he spoke English.

“Wow,” I whispered.

He nodded.

“Wow,” he echoed in the same hushed tone. His face then broke into a smile as wide as the landscape. “That is the only word.”

Wow II

(211 words)

Swing with me through the Big Stump entrance of Kings Canyon National Park, and paint yourself into the Sierra Nevada canvas. Gone is the hushed thickness of giant sequoias, carpeted redwood cathedrals, and touristy hordes of the adjacent park. Here reigns austere and majestic solitude.

Step with me into a massive, high-definition, three-dimensional landscape, a canyon worthy of kings. Earthly or divine.

Carving through brutally harsh and precipitous granite, spontaneous ribbons of water twist and swallow each other into roaring streams that magically disappear as instantly as they arise. Layers upon layers of fern, sage, and sepia dust themselves into hidden crevices of scruffy chaparral, craggy outcroppings, and skyscraping conifers. Pewter granite, pillow-like in the distance, props itself against snow-tinged peaks and cloud-studded azure.

A mere speck of dust in this still life, I stand within the tiny apron of a scenic outlook. Trying to capture the grandeur, I click my camera in all directions. The results are flat. I spread open my arms. They capture nothing.

I turn to an old Asian man, who suddenly stands beside me. In his creased face, I see my own sophomoric wonder.

“Wow,” I whisper.

In the shared language of awe, he nods and echoes my sentiment.

“That is the only word,” he says.

Wow III

(209 words)

Carving through brutally harsh and precipitous granite, spontaneous ribbons of water twist and swallow each other into roaring streams that magically disappear as instantly as they arise. Pewter granite, pillow-like in the distance, props itself against snow-tinged peaks and cloud-studded azure.

Layers upon layers of fern, sage, and sepia dust themselves into hidden crevices of scruffy chaparral, craggy outcroppings, and skyscraping conifers.

I am in Kings Canyon National Park, painting myself into a Sierra Nevada canvas. Gone is the hushed thickness of giant sequoias, carpeted redwood cathedrals, and touristy hordes of the adjacent park.

Here reigns austere and majestic solitude, appearing as a massive, high-definition, three-dimensional landscape, a canyon worthy of kings. Earthly or divine.

A mere speck, I stand within the tiny apron of a scenic outlook. Trying to capture the grandeur, I click my camera in all directions. The results are flat. I spread open my arms. They capture nothing.

I turn to an old Asian man, who soundlessly appears beside me. In his face, I see my own wonder.

“Wow,” I whisper.

In the shared language of awe, he nods. In the time it takes for the sound of Wow to rebound, he echoes my sentiment.

“That is the only word,” he says and silently disappears.

Wow IV

(207 words)

A mere speck of dust in the canvas of Kings Canyon National Park, I stood within the tiny apron of a scenic outlook. Gone was the hushed thickness of giant sequoias, carpeted redwood cathedrals, and touristy hordes of the adjacent park. Here reigned a massive, high-definition, three-dimensional picture, a canyon worthy of kings. Earthly or divine.

Trying to paint myself into the Sierra Nevada still life, I scrutinized the brutally harsh and precipitous granite. Spontaneous ribbons of water twisted and swallowed each other into roaring streams that magically disappeared as instantly as they arose. Pewter granite, molded pillow-like in the distance, rested against snow-tinged peaks and a cloud-studded blue sky. Layers upon layers of fern, sage, and sepia dusted themselves into hidden crevices of scruffy chaparral, craggy outcroppings, and skyscraping conifers.

I clicked my camera in all directions. The results were flat. I spread open my arms. They captured nothing.

An old Asian man stood beside me. For how long, I don’t know. In his creased face, I saw my own innocent wonder.

“Wow,” I whispered.

In the shared language of awe, he nodded. In the time it took for the sound of Wow to rebound, he echoed my sentiment.

“Wow. Yes, that is the only word.”

Wow V

(215 words)

“Wow,” I whispered to no one.

Except there was someone. An Asian man stood beside me within the tiny apron of a scenic outlook. Consumed by magnificence, I had not noticed his approach.

Mere specks were we in the canvas of Kings Canyon National Park. Gone was the hushed thickness of giant sequoias, carpeted redwood cathedrals, and touristy hordes of the adjacent park. Here reigned a massive, high-definition, three-dimensional landscape, a canyon worthy of kings. Earthly or divine.

Trying to paint myself into the Sierra Nevada still life, I fixated on the brutally harsh and precipitous granite. Spontaneous ribbons of water twisted and swallowed each other into roaring streams that magically disappeared as instantly as they arose. Pewter granite, molded pillow-like in the distance, propped itself against snow-tinged peaks and a cloud-studded azure sky.

Layers upon layers of fern, sage, and sepia dusted themselves into hidden crevices of scruffy chaparral, craggy outcroppings, and skyscraping conifers.

I clicked my camera in all directions. The results were flat. I spread open my arms. They capture nothing.

I turned toward my silent companion and noted his creased, Asian face.

“Wow,” I repeated.

In the shared language of awe, he nodded. He echoed my sentiment.

“That is the only word.” As soundlessly as he had arrived, he left.

Wow.