Sense of Wonder

November 29, 2017

The date is July 4, 2015. I am spending a weekend house sitting, at my Grandparents house; my Aunt Diane and my cousin Mikayla. Mikayla and I walk my Grandparents dog, Misty, around the yard. We found this beautiful flower. Luckily, I had my camera with me to take a photo of it. That night, my Aunt Diane gave Mikayla and I sparklers. We all have our own sparkler, and we drew hearts in the air.


The Date is November 17, 2017. Today is Mikayla’s sixteenth birthday. Misty passed away on October 11, 2017. My Grandparents still travel a lot. Aunt Diane has an air tank to help her breath. I am in school writing about a memory I have. Even if I tried, I could never forget July 4, 2015. It was one of the most amazing days of that year. I look back at that day, and I remember that beautiful flower. The flower was an inspiration to me. It reminds me that no matter what happens in life, I will find the happiness I felt on July 4, 2017.

 

I watch as the roads change color
Grey to rust to charcoal
I know where I am headed
The trees change from maple to oak to pine
The air ices my face the further north we travel
The scent of pine needles stretching under my nose
Drawing me into the echos of the woods
Random cracks and snaps
As the trees sway to the music of the wind
A crickle crackle from a squirrel moving from one spot to the next
Larger animals hiding at a distance
Preferring not to acknowledge my presence
The sun, ever so slightly
Peaking through branches
Slightly blinding me
Leaving echoes of light in my eyes
The air smells different here
Fresh
Light
Free from the confines of trash, graffiti, and unnatural grime
I close my eyes to take a deep breath in
The fresh lake calls to my senses
Reminding me of turtles, panfish, and the great Northerns I have yet to catch
Water lapping upon the sand
As if to applaud my arrival
The pier creaking ever so slightly
A reminder that nature prevails over man made objects
Shadows of large pines rippling in the waves
Slipping my shoes off, I push my feet into the sand
Footprints along the path I have traveled
None, where I have, yet, to go
Though, the lake may wash away those footprints
The story remains
I was here






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