"Chase the Rain."
I just had a little brain-supernova and this tiny idea was born. I love rain. I love the peace and life it brings. It loves and nurtures the earth, each drop bringing down love from the dark clouds above. I love the sounds and the glimmers of the earth as she drinks up the refreshing precipitation. I love rain. And then this little phrase simply popped into my head.
"Chase the Rain."
Rain makes me think of books and darkness and cool, refreshing life. It makes me think of green leaves bowing to the weight of each droplet. It inspires me.
"Chase the Rain."
I like it.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
"Deep Breaths"
My sincerest apologies for not posting in a while....my teachers think it's funny to give 6 hours of homework a night. Thanks, my lovely educators! Ack. So I've been writing a lot lately, and I recently entered my first ever writing contest...I'm actually very excited. All my friends are very good writers, and they entered, too, so I suppose I'll just have to wait and see what happens...even if I don't win, I'm very excited that I entered.
The word "quite" amuses me. Also, "pinafore." As well as 19th century literature. Maybe you couldn't tell, but I'm currently reading Jane Eyre for AP Literature. I happen to love it. I'm so happy that we're done with Crime & Punishment, but this weekend I have to write a paper answering "to what extent should man have the right to create his own morals?" That's some pretty heavy thinking...ideas in the comments, por favor! (that's spanish for "please," just in case some of you are crazy French-speaking people...like the French...or the Canadians....TEAM SPANISH!!! :D )
Here's my entry for the contest, it's called "Deep Breaths"...let me know what you think! Two more days till Friday, then the weekend! Hang in there!
P.S. The Script is my new favorite band...listen to them and LOVE them as much as I do. Oh, one more thing.... www.youtube.com/vlogbrothers. It'll change your life for the better. DFTBA :D
~
She walked along the bank of the stream, the cold soil sending refreshing chills up through her bare feet. The woods she grew up in played a song for her, the wind, water, and birds all serenading her as she passed. She took a deep breath, filling her body with the invigorating smell of life that could only come from a place like this. She thought, as she often did, about what the world was like in different places. All cities were the same, she knew that. They were hard and dirty, the smell of gasoline and heavy human exhaustion always lingering in the air. She liked being in the city, but only for brief periods of time. She was never able to understand how one could spend their entire life in a box. That was all the city was to her, a dull metal box, trapping her inside with confusing side streets and rushing businesspeople that never stopped to smell the roses that she loved so dearly.
Houses were different. The feel of your house often reflected your lifestyle -- a messy, funny-smelling house typically meant you had a messy, busy life. Some people, she had noticed, had exceptionally clean houses. Those houses smelled like air freshener and freshly-vacuumed carpet. This was always ironic to her, because the people that owned those houses were usually her father's business partners, and it seemed like the had the messiest lives of all.
The smell of the outdoors depended heavily on the season, which, she supposed, was a lot like people's appearances. In the springtime, her favorite time of year, everything was new and natural, and the beauty of it was in the fact that life had come after all the trials of winter. She always thought this to be like when a baby was born, young and new and healthy, and as they continued to grow and blossom like the soft pink flowers along the stream, they became stronger and even more beautiful.
Then, in the summer, it was hot, and everything smelled hot, and people worked hard to keep the outdoors beautiful, watering and weeding like madmen. To her, this had always been like a teenager wearing makeup and the coolest clothes to try to negate the amount of acne she had and the exponentially increasing level of awkward her body continued to reach.
In the fall, when nature started that reluctant journey towards winter, the changing colors of leaves reminded her of all the middle aged women that dyed their hair, desperately clinging to their summer when their leaves were a little greener and their tree trunks didn’t have so many rings. Earth smelled cool and fresh, but that sweet smell always came with the omnipresent knowledge that winter was coming soon.
Winter made her cry for Earth, tired and just barely alive, just as she cried for all those people who had reached the stage of their lives when they did the exact same thing everyday: coffee, work, home, children, dinner, bed, and again the next day. It was a terrible stage to be in, and she prayed everyday that she would never get there. She had always been surrounded by people in that stage, and she was determined not to join them.
But then spring came again, and it always made her realize that the original, honest, natural beauty found at birth was also found at the end of life, in those few, happy older people that you saw in the library or at the park. The ones that smiled at you like they were truly happy to see you and called you "Miss." The ones that held the door open for you and refused to give up on life simply because they were a few decades closer to death than most. She had always admired these people because they had gone through all their seasons and were still happy to be there for another one. They didn’t just stop and smell the roses, they picked the roses to give to people so they might smell them, too.
Suddenly, the sun dipped in the sky and the still half-naked trees around her no longer intercepted its orange glow. She squinted as the light flooded her surroundings and then, with a sigh, realized it was time to begin the short walk home. One last deep breath soothed her senses, and she turned and climbed back up the bank to return to the conglomeration of misshapen puzzle pieces that, when forced together, created the abstract painting of her family.
The word "quite" amuses me. Also, "pinafore." As well as 19th century literature. Maybe you couldn't tell, but I'm currently reading Jane Eyre for AP Literature. I happen to love it. I'm so happy that we're done with Crime & Punishment, but this weekend I have to write a paper answering "to what extent should man have the right to create his own morals?" That's some pretty heavy thinking...ideas in the comments, por favor! (that's spanish for "please," just in case some of you are crazy French-speaking people...like the French...or the Canadians....TEAM SPANISH!!! :D )
Here's my entry for the contest, it's called "Deep Breaths"...let me know what you think! Two more days till Friday, then the weekend! Hang in there!
P.S. The Script is my new favorite band...listen to them and LOVE them as much as I do. Oh, one more thing.... www.youtube.com/vlogbrothers. It'll change your life for the better. DFTBA :D
~
She walked along the bank of the stream, the cold soil sending refreshing chills up through her bare feet. The woods she grew up in played a song for her, the wind, water, and birds all serenading her as she passed. She took a deep breath, filling her body with the invigorating smell of life that could only come from a place like this. She thought, as she often did, about what the world was like in different places. All cities were the same, she knew that. They were hard and dirty, the smell of gasoline and heavy human exhaustion always lingering in the air. She liked being in the city, but only for brief periods of time. She was never able to understand how one could spend their entire life in a box. That was all the city was to her, a dull metal box, trapping her inside with confusing side streets and rushing businesspeople that never stopped to smell the roses that she loved so dearly.
Houses were different. The feel of your house often reflected your lifestyle -- a messy, funny-smelling house typically meant you had a messy, busy life. Some people, she had noticed, had exceptionally clean houses. Those houses smelled like air freshener and freshly-vacuumed carpet. This was always ironic to her, because the people that owned those houses were usually her father's business partners, and it seemed like the had the messiest lives of all.
The smell of the outdoors depended heavily on the season, which, she supposed, was a lot like people's appearances. In the springtime, her favorite time of year, everything was new and natural, and the beauty of it was in the fact that life had come after all the trials of winter. She always thought this to be like when a baby was born, young and new and healthy, and as they continued to grow and blossom like the soft pink flowers along the stream, they became stronger and even more beautiful.
Then, in the summer, it was hot, and everything smelled hot, and people worked hard to keep the outdoors beautiful, watering and weeding like madmen. To her, this had always been like a teenager wearing makeup and the coolest clothes to try to negate the amount of acne she had and the exponentially increasing level of awkward her body continued to reach.
In the fall, when nature started that reluctant journey towards winter, the changing colors of leaves reminded her of all the middle aged women that dyed their hair, desperately clinging to their summer when their leaves were a little greener and their tree trunks didn’t have so many rings. Earth smelled cool and fresh, but that sweet smell always came with the omnipresent knowledge that winter was coming soon.
Winter made her cry for Earth, tired and just barely alive, just as she cried for all those people who had reached the stage of their lives when they did the exact same thing everyday: coffee, work, home, children, dinner, bed, and again the next day. It was a terrible stage to be in, and she prayed everyday that she would never get there. She had always been surrounded by people in that stage, and she was determined not to join them.
But then spring came again, and it always made her realize that the original, honest, natural beauty found at birth was also found at the end of life, in those few, happy older people that you saw in the library or at the park. The ones that smiled at you like they were truly happy to see you and called you "Miss." The ones that held the door open for you and refused to give up on life simply because they were a few decades closer to death than most. She had always admired these people because they had gone through all their seasons and were still happy to be there for another one. They didn’t just stop and smell the roses, they picked the roses to give to people so they might smell them, too.
Suddenly, the sun dipped in the sky and the still half-naked trees around her no longer intercepted its orange glow. She squinted as the light flooded her surroundings and then, with a sigh, realized it was time to begin the short walk home. One last deep breath soothed her senses, and she turned and climbed back up the bank to return to the conglomeration of misshapen puzzle pieces that, when forced together, created the abstract painting of her family.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)