And shapes suggestive that forever change

Heap up in graceful forms their semblance strange.

--Thomas C. Amory, The Charles River: A Poem

There is some special synergy between this river and its school. In September, when fresh faces, bubbling and exuberant, eagerly gaze toward the upcoming term, the river responds in kind, painting its boughs bright crimson hues, gurgling while it playfully licks the boats that caress its surface. In March, when lazy students, recently finished with midterms and theses, shed their cares, the river reflects that restful aura, sparkling quietly beneath clear blue skies. In May, the busiest of times, when students must hustle and bustle, move and commence, the river, too, shimmers with activity, shooting rays of light that blind those moving along the water's side.

But today, in the dead of January, the Charles sits silent and still. Its waters are buried deep beneath winter's frigid glaze. The night is dark, the wind blows cold. No feet dare tread upon its cracking face, no rays will warm that icy place. The foolhardy may venture along the river's banks, but always to return with socks dripping and hearts hanging. There is something melancholy to be found here.

Perhaps the Charles does, after all, reflect our thoughts. For us, winter exam period is often the bleakest of times. The steady stream of papers and exams, like a thick snowstorm, chills our souls and buries our wills. In the end we, like the river, can do nothing but wait meekly for the sun to break.