Cicily sat at the top of the mountain, writing in the journal that Brian had given her.
Why had things gone so wrong?
Well, nothing had gone wrong really, it just didn’t go right.
How was she ever supposed to give her heart to someone and stay her own person?
Maybe she just wasn’t meant to fall in love.
Looking out at the trees below, Cicily felt a bit of peace. This was the real world. Not that city mess that she needed to escape from every weekend. This. Read the rest of this entry
The silly squirrel chirps and barks at me in anger. He wants me away from his tree? Ha! Fat chance! I defy his angry warnings and lope around the base of the catalpa. This is after all, my yard. What right does a squirrel have to tell me what to do?
He’s silent for a second.
Well now that we’ve got that out of the way, do you feel better mr. squirrel? No? How about we work out our differences? I jump onto the trunk of the tree, digging my claws into the bark. That jump was a little higher than I thought. I inch up the tree. I don’t know how high I can go, but cats always land on their feet, right?
It’s ok, squirrelly, I’m just coming to have a little chat. See? I’m not gonna hurt you (my claws are a bit busy keeping me in this damn tree. Why would you spend ALL your time in one of these?)
YES! I reached the lowest branch! I’m higher above the ground than the height of most humans! Where’d that pesky squirrel go?
Yeah, not quite as loud now are you? That’s right, you inch away. If I made it this high, I can get to you. That branch is only a few feet away. Look at how high I’ve climbed already?
Wow… That’s kind of high. How am I supposed to get down? Hmmm… Well, I’m sure I can just run down the trunk. But I’d better not go toooo much higher. Just a couple branches. Give that squirrel a little bit to worry about.
What’s my silly human doing out here?
“Tulip! Tulip Come down!” Snap, Snap.
Really? As if snapping her fingers is going to get me down. I’m fine. Go back inside. Leave me alone.
BWAHA! Didn’t think I was still paying attention to you, did ya, squirrelly?
I’m gonna getcha!
Okaaaay…. I guess I’ll let you live. This time.
Just because I don’t want my silly human to worry about me in this tree.
Now, to get down…… Ok, here goes..
clackety, scrape sliiiiide
Ooh, that was fun! I’ll definitely be doing that again. Watch out squirrelly! I’ll be back!
So, Jordan and I got a turtle this last weekend. It belonged to a coworker’s son, who is 16 and now more interested in girls and sports than taking care of a turtle. We went over and got the turtle, the tub she’s been living in, and a few caretaking items from them. They had named her Timmy, not knowing that she was a girl for a while. We have named her Terra.
Terra is a dork, just like us. She burrows in her dirt, dirties up her water dish, and tries to climb up the walls of her tub. She loves being hummed and whistled too. Jordan got her a little plate for her food. It has Tinkerbell and some other faeries on it. This morning she seemed just as reluctant to have the light turned on at 6:30 as I was. Read the rest of this entry
During my last semester of college, I took a science writing class. Despite it’s name, and luckily for me, it was not about writing technical science jargon or lab reports. It mostly covered nature writing and bringing scientific issues to the general population by interweaving personal experiences with scientific fact.
I loved the class, which was taught by Ceiridwen Terrill, author of Part Wild, a memoir about her experiences owning a part wolf.
In the class, we were told one day to write a childhood nature memory, using as much detail as possible. Here is the result.
Childhood Nature Memory
As I walk down the overgrown paths near my Grandma’s house, the sights overload my nine-year old brain. I’m visiting Grammy and her husband, Tom, in Yerington, Nevada, which is basically the middle of nowhere. The land is mostly desert, but not far from the house there’s a patch of trees. To my mind, I’m in an endless desert that in need of exploring. I run into the house every night rambling about the animal prints I see. “Maybe if you were quieter, you’d see some animals too.” Grandpa Tom quips. I don’t really pay attention to him though. The animals obviously just didn’t come out to play at the same hours I did.
One evening, Grammy decides that we are going for a walk. We walk along an animal beaten trail toward the trees. When we get near a clearing before the tree cluster, Grammy pulls me back, telling me to be quiet. Seconds later, the clearing is filled with almost fifty deer, heading toward the water that I can’t believe exists in this barren land. Not a hundred feet away from us are more deer than I’ve seen in my entire life.
Later at the house, I tell Grandpa Tom what we’ve seen. “See! I am quiet enough!” Grammy and Tom just looked at each other mischievously and let me continue my excited ramblings.
The sail screams,
begging me to stop it from being stolen by the wind.
I oblige, reining it in with all my might.
Now it begs to be free, to be filled with the wind.
I give it some freedom, but not so much that it can run away.
The sail is like a child.
It doesn’t know what it wants. Read the rest of this entry
A punny fellow English major friend and I almost named this one “stream of conciousness.” But the title as it is is perfect, and though I’ve thought of making many changes after readers misunderstood and just failed to “get” this piece, it says exactly what I want it to, and I can’t really imagine any changes without compromising the piece.
Without further rambling…
It is a gorgeous day. I swim freely in my lovely, fast-paced stream, loving life. For a while, I was afraid that I would regret leaving the cave-pond where I grew up, but I longed to escape. I needed change. So I left, and I am loving my life in this action-packed river. But don’t be fooled. Though I have been sheltered, I am not ignorant of the ways of this world. I know the dangers that lurk around every corner, waiting to catch me unawares.
So of course, your bait does not fool me. Yes, that plump worm is tempting, floating there, just begging to be snatched up, but I know that hiding beneath that fleshy mass is a wiry hook- a hook that has caught many fish already, and will catch many more. I refuse to be one of those fish. Read the rest of this entry