Friday, October 3, 2014

Autumn Writing the Third

Day three of the Autumn Writing Giveaway: Share a favorite poem, along with a few fallish pictures:
This was the first browned tree of fall that i saw. 

I am not a big poem reader but my favorite poet when I was younger was Shel Silverstein. 

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Autumn Trees

Day two of the Autumn Writing Giveaway: Write a fractured Fallish fairy tale


The tree's golden leaves gently float to the dying grass beneath me. Death. Even the plants were dying! Unwanted tears trickled down her cheeks. Quickly, she wipes them away. As they fall faster, she ignores them. Curling up, the tears watered the ground. Where they landed, the grass became green again. They swayed beneath her and whispered. Soon they began to grow. They grew up and around her. In no time, there was a small circle that shielded her from the outside. She felt safe. And with the warm sun to dry her tears, she fell asleep.

She awoke with a start. The stars were out, and each shone like a gem. The air was cool, but not cold. The grass almost made a dome. Their dome protected her from the wind. Stretching, she stroked the grass then pushed it aside. The same tree with the dying leaves was there, but everything else was different. The world around her had changed, she wasn't at home anymore.

Darcy looked around. She was so happy, yet scared at the same time. This is what I wanted, right? This is what I wished for. But she wondered why it didn't feel like she always dreamed it would. Putting her hand on the tree, Darcy made a mental note of its location, and set out in search of water. She was parched and her face felt stiff and puffy.

Applying knowledge she had learned while hiking with her dad, she headed downwards. Water usually flowed through valleys. Sure enough, she heard the sound of running water and followed her ears. This led Darcy into a small waterfall with perfectly transparent water. It looked unnaturally clear. While washing her face, she drank drank fill. But as she did, Darcy noticed not a single thing was stirring in the water. Not minuscule tadpoles. There was no movement besides the splashing of the waterfall. Then something, coming from somewhere, splashed in the far side of the pool.

Darcy jumped. She backed away. There was something magical about this place. "Hello? Anyone out there?" Even though she couldn't see anything, she heard splashes. A head peeked out of the water. Once the head was visible, the rest appeared. It was a mermaid!
"I am Luna, what is it you seek?"
Darcy was speechless. "I... I... I..."  
"You must be here for a reason. The only ones who get here are the ones who call for aid." Luna the mermaid replied in a thick accent. Her lips, tail, and eyes were a sparkling blue.
"I guess I called. I just wanted..." I broke down crying again. Luna looked as if she understood. There was compassion in her eyes.
"If you seek the resurrection of your father, I cannot help you. Death is a cycle. It is one with Life. Ever on and on they go, tussling back and forth. But one day, Death will be vanquished, and Life will reign again. This time, forever." Her eyes appeared to be looking far, far into the future; into the day were Death dies. As Darcy pondered her words, the world around melted like too much water on a painting. The greens and blues of life gave way to decaying browns and oranges. But, she realized, the trees outwardly die each year, yet they always come back in the spring. They produce beautiful flowers again. They hold on when it is hard.

Darcy stood up. She was determined. She felt like a tree. Even though the world around her was changing, moving, and dying, she would hold on. She would live to see the beautiful flowers again.

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Smells of Autumn

I am in an Autumn writing... thingy. The Diaries of Mannerbee Mansion is hosting it. Today, I almost forgot that is was the first day and that is why this is being posted so late.
Day 1: A simple paragraph about the time of year.

You may think I am crazy, but Autumn has a certain smell about it. My nose tells me when it really is Autumn. When we open our windows to let the cool air in, the house smells like Fall. When I walk into a coffee shop and Pumpkin Spice coffee is brewing, it smells like Fall. When my friends bake snicker-doodle, ginger-bread, and pumpkin cookies, it smells like Fall. These smells fill me with hope. The oppressive heat of Summer will give way to the relieving Autumn air. And as I sit back with my Pumpkin Spice Latte, snicker-doodle cookies, and big comfy sweater, I am so thankful Autumn is back again.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

My Experience in Starbucks
 September 17, 2014 (This is nonfiction)
            I am writing this because of the caffeine of the coffee I bought (which hinders my sleep) and the man who sold me the latte. Looking up at the man behind the cash register, I noticed that, for once, it wasn’t a stereotypical, college-aged, coffee shop employee. The person behind the counter was a man with long, white wavy hair that poked out from under his ocean-green Starbucks hat. His chin was full of white stubble and his eyes squinted behind his hipster glasses. When he spoke, he had the voice of a young man. If I had heard him on the phone, I would have never thought the voice had come from a man that looked this old.
            On this particular day, I was wearing my Moby Dick t-shirt. As the money was being downloaded to my Starbucks card, he asked me if I had read the book on my shirt. Coloring, I replied, “To my shame, this is the only book-shirt that I own that I have not read yet, but I do want to read it someday.” He replied that it wasn’t a shame at all. Pausing to punch in numbers, he continued our conversation. He explained that there was a section in Moby Dick that expressed the protagonists despairing attitude during April.  So it must be better to read it in April to be able to understand the character. “Back to the mundane!” he interrupted himself as he counted the change. Then he debated whether we would understand what the character felt, since we live in Louisiana.  Moby Dick was written in the New England states. Up there, April is a dreary time where slush abounds and spring hangs back. He reasoned that is why the protagonist is so depressed. “Back to the mundane!” he interrupted again. Then he asked if I had read Billy Budd, Sailor, in which I quickly asserted that I had.

As he talked on about Herman Melville, I quickly discerned a few things about his character. For one, he was quite knowledgeable, but quite distracted as well. Also, a couple of times, he stopped squinting and opened his eyes. They were an icy, crystal blue, and seemed starry. His manner of conversation was light, and I found what he was saying actually interesting, though some might find it boring. His whole aurora made me think of a sprite, or an elf, or some other-worldly creature. In fact, I am convinced that I had no “mundane” human handed me the receipt of my Starbucks drink. 

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Creator's love

"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." Just imagine, the creator of the universe is simging that to you! He cannot contain his infinite love. It is bursting out for you, a normal mortal. Isn't that just amazing? 

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Musicals

Being a christian is like being in a musical! You have to practice it, you perform it, you do can't do it alone. And there are some people who claim they can sing, but they really cannot. They are like the people who claim to be christains but dont practice. Come on! Let's start breaking into song for Jesus!