I come from lacrosse balls, soccer balls, chess pieces, and pillow cushions strewn across the long oak boards. I walk outside- something feels wrong. Could it be the fat, furry ball of white fluff eating the majestic daffodils? Could it be the herd of swallows circling the large oak bard? Could it be the quiet chirping of crickets? Could it be the yellow bales sitting in the green pasture? Could it be the quiet rush of the rapids from the deep blue river?
No, nothing is wrong.
This is home.
-Miles W. 8th Grade
No comments:
Post a Comment