After watching Clara, as seen above, strut in front of me in pure fascination of the large, shiny, black object I held in my hands, I can’t help but snap as many pictures of her as I can. I have to say, over the last four years, she’s developed quite the dramatic flair, and well I may not like it, I am most likely the reason for it. She however, takes sass to new heights. Even as a chick, she would walk right past your hand, even going as far as to brush past it, and just to waddle away as quickly as her tiny body would allow. Now, in this case especially, I sat on the ground so I was somewhat even with them, but I still was on a slight hill, she makes a point to walk in front of me and pose, and take her time watching me to ensure that I do take her picture. She ruffles her feathers and walks away from me. Oh well I think and look around to find another chicken.


And soon enough, I do find another bird. This time, it happens to be Zoey, my mysterious and dark colored chicken. When I took this picture, she had just come out of hiding. She was hiding in the lilac trees that had once been blooming and soon will be again. She comes out only to be resourceful and collect her findings quickly. Zoey has always been a loner of sorts, but she can fit in with any chicken younger or older. When she was a chick, she was the last to leave the warmth of the heat lamps, but the first to snuggle up to you and fall asleep in your arms.


Watching all of these birds that I have raised over the past eight years, I can’t help but feel a sense of pride over the fact that they made it this long and all may be separated into their own special groups, but all together as a flock, however small they may be.





I roll over on the small blanket, once again cocooned in a soft blanket. I bury my face further into the pillow and try to drown out any noise at all. Anything to stop my ears from hurting even more.

Being sick sucks, I think darkly.

Thinking back to earlier today, when I thought my ear was fine and my cold going away, I can’t help but feel releaved that I did go. It was worth the painful wait of the emergency clinic, and poking from the Doctor. At least they found out the source of my miserableness.

Double ear infections bring me so much joy, I can’t help but think sarcastically.


I release a sigh and feel my shoulders slump. I had finally made it into the safety of the car and wouldn’t have to come back until the following Monday.

As soon as I slammed my locker sit up after the dismissal bell had rang, I had made a deadbolt out of the school with my backpack free of almost any homework. As I had attempted to shuffle my way through the hallway, I noticed the many kids lingering by their lockers and socializing, and I internally scoffed. The first gap I saw in the sea of students I shot through and got the heck out of there. I narrowly escaped the hallways and sped down the stairs and quickly turned the corner to exit one of the sets of bright red, double doors. I spot my brother’s car quickly and walk out to trying to keep the rain off me. I look both ways for crazy drivers, and cross the street seeing that it’s clear. I open the car door, and enter my current safe haven.


All my life, I’ve been told to never grow up. I’ve always been the youngest and the cousin who awkwardly stands to the side while the older cousins talk. I’m the one who talks with the aunts and uncles in hopes of having less awkward conversation.

Seven years later, the idea of never growing up seems entirely out of reach.


I blow my nose for the hundredth time today. The depressing cycle of getting up, blowing my nose, and sitting back down only to have to repeat in a few minutes seems excessive. My “Rudolph” cherry red and dry nose is returning and with it comes a puffy face, a bad cough, and as my brother so kindly put it, the Darth Vader voice. I can feel my sickness returning from a part ear infection that took place only a few short weeks ago. The miserableness that no amount of Ben and Jerry’s or Frosty Boy ice cream can heal is consuming me, and it is not welcomed. Hopefully, at least by tomorrow, the cold medicine will have done it’s supposed job.


I can feel the sunlight seeping in through the windshield. It is absorbed into my black long sleeve shirt (now looking back, I wholeheartedly regret this decision) and makes my entire heart instantly feel warmer. Listening to the quiet music playing soulfully in the background has always seemed to be a favorite pastime of mine. Whether it was when I was four years old and obsessed with Bluegrass and “blue gum” because that’s what my dad loved or my days of singing the spongebob theme song for hours on end, simply for the pleasure of being an annoying youngest sibling. Seeing my older (at the time preteen) sister’s face get all red was just an added bonus.

I snap out of my daze and squirm trying to keep my right arm out of the sun. Eventually I do suceed and my arm returns to it’s normal pale, freckled color, in a few minutes.


I look at all the life returning to the yard, seeming fitting for the first day of spring. I look around me at the old jungle gym that I had so many memories on. My first best friend and I made this our castle and we were pirates and princesses and anything else we could think of. I had one of my earliest memories here, watching the Rainbow installers put it in. I stood in front of the window of the bump out in the kitchen and watched them build it, completely and utterly fascinated by how quickly and efficiently they put the entire thing up. I had no idea how many memories, both good and sad would come out of it. When I stood in that window, barely able to stand on my own, and knowing I had a whole lifetime of memories ahead of me.


Unable to shake the grin from my face, I ramble on and on about random stories that come to my mind and I find somewhat relate to the situation. My parents glance at each other, across from me at the small table in the dimly lit at the quiet Chinese restaurant. I throw my head back and laugh at the story being told to me. I’ve heard it many times before and I always find it funny. I look around the restaurant, only to see a few tables of older people scattered around the restaurant. They quietly talk amongst themselves as they eat. Our table seems to have the most life and energy.

My giggles seem endless throughout the entire meal and don’t stop until we leave the building and I’m faced with the reality of the harsh winds and how hard it became to walk suddenly. Only then, do I realize how warm and happy that building was.


The rain lightly pounding against the car’s windshield seems most appropriate for the saddening situation. The loss of Michigan State shocked all Spartan fans, and even the team and staff themselves. Not to mention the countless brackets that had MSU going to at least the Elite Eight. Many brackets would pay the price of ripping, shredding, and other methods of torture.

The amount of heartbreak and shock etched on the senior basketball player’s faces and the fan’s both at the game and watching on TV, was undeniable. No single person was to blame, and everyone knew it. They simply underestimated the little school called Middle Tennessse, and now payed the price.




I turn over, lazily moving on my bed trying to see if the sunset is worth getting out of bed for. Apparently, it is. With the perfect view of the sun going right between the split of the one trunk of a tree outside my window, almost looking like it was made to fit there, it looks perfect and immediately reminds me of summer. The idea of summer makes my mind ring out in memories of campfires, fireflies, and long pool days. The nights were the best part I think, going over memories from the past summer. The nights when I could wear shorts and thick shirts to hide my (unfortunately pale) sun kissed skin, only to stay up late around the fire, gazing up at stars and only seeing the past.

I snap out of my daze and glance around my lamp lit room with beams of sun fighting for us to not leave it alone again. I set my backpack on the floor from where I quite literally, plopped on my bed to start reading. I decide to open my book once again, knowing that I won’t be able to get out of this trance until the last word is read.