She played around with verse at times. Words and images would float around in her mind looking for a place to rest. At seventeen, she wasn't sure where her life would take her. With wonder and ideas, she would come to her favorite spot under the tree of her youth to find the words for her next line. With pencil in hand, she would just wait and wait until the land and air would offer a Muse to her.
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I walk here to clear my head. Clear it of all the daily chaos that swirls around in my brain. Even on these damp and wet November days..this place brings me peace and balance.
I take this time for myself during my break. Alone and undisturbed by other voices but my own..I just walk and breathe.
Jane walked along the pond path, admiring the leafless willow's shape. Suddenly she staggered and nearly fell, as a young man ran into her. "Oh, miss. I'm so sorry. I was hurrying up to the house to see Mr. Buckley and I didn't see you." She raised her hand to slap him, but changed her mind. Papa might not like it if she slapped his visitor. Instead, she said, "It's not proper, but I'm going to introduce myself. I'm Jane Buckley, Thomas Buckley's daughter." "I'm Benjamin Mast. Will you walk with me?" They turned and went back up the path.
To a passerby, this may seem like a picturesque place to abide, its immaculate landscaping and greenery- its structure just short of a mansion, my home since I was a little girl. Yet the pleasantries of it's beauty don't amount to much in my world.
The trees strangle me and the ground seems to rise up around me as if it were to swallow me whole. I have not set foot outside the shrubbery of the estate. My father doesn't see purpose in my finding a place in the "evils of the world" as he calls it. So I am bound to walk within his property, as I am a part of it.
I feel as though I cannot breath. My throat closes up more each year and I am to die of it's suffocation one day. I am sure of it.
Then I hear her cry above me, the friend I've made and the friend I envy above every creature I have ever encountered. My eyes search to the top of the snarly tree I had once feared above all others. In the most top branches, she had created her own home. The first time I saw it, I hadn't known what it was - it just looked like a big ball of sticks and leaves.
I do not know what could give her any reason to choose this of all places for her own home. She had the wings to carry her away from this place. Yet she chose to be here. I found comfort in this, my regal hawk friend. She had my dreams. She could soar through the sky and escape my world. Yet she chose not to. Perhaps there is reason to hope.
She played around with verse at times. Words and images would float around in her mind looking for a place to rest. At seventeen, she wasn't sure where her life would take her. With wonder and ideas, she would come to her favorite spot under the tree of her youth to find the words for her next line. With pencil in hand, she would just wait and wait until the land and air would offer a Muse to her.
In the summer the house could hardly been seen from the street. The trees were lush and full of greenery. Flowers bloomed in a multitude of colors that seem to keep your attention more then the faint white that would occasionally peek through. Yet now Autumn had made its way in and the leaves had fallen from most of the trees, except for the few that still clung to the branches although the winds tried desparately to pluck them. The mistletoe that hung high, before well hidden, was now bare and the only green that could be seen.
I stopped and stared at the house as it stood in the distance. The large Oak stood gnarled and twisted as if guarding what lie beyond it. Its loyalty made evident by the low branches that hung over the walk that led up to the home itself. They seemed to be ready to snatch anyone who dare to attempt to pass its path without permission.
I do wish that the neighbors didn't live so very close to us, she thought as her feet scampered through the wet grass.
It seems each time that we have a special dinner, they invite themselves over. Why can't they fix their own meals? Momma always sends me out to gather the fixings for our meal. How come the boys can't do it? Why does it always have to be me?
As she scampered up the tree, her little eyes rested on the tiny home above her and then she remembered all of the reasons to her why's.
Family takes care of one another, especially when you're a squirrel.
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