Falling

The sun glowed behind the silver clouds
A light breeze swirled tiny crystalline flakes in little tizzies.

The goal was simple: getting comfortable.
I wanted to change into jeans before Sunday lunch.
The only difficulty: reaching the front door.
Steep, narrow stairs waited to trip and break me.
They succeeded and my world went spinning
As I skidded headfirst
With knees and shins bouncing off the concrete.

I slid to a crunching halt.
My large handbag protected my ribs
But my wrist and legs had hit every step.
My knees stung with dirt
My right hand would not move
My brain throbbed to my rapid pulse
And my voice was hiding.

Could I say anything?
My mouth tried and failed but
‘Help!’ would not come out.
All I could manage was a whimper

A leaden gloom suffused the sky
And a chill wind whipped the snow around in circles.

Homework on a Thursday Night

A mountain looms and threatens to bury
The coffee table that serves as my desk
Under enough homework to make me want
To pull out all my hair, a thing more lousy
Than getting bitten by the ancient Basilisk,
That serpent slain by warriors gallant.

My Latin book lies on the cluttered floor
Surrounded by my Lordship Calvin notes
And paper research books are cuddled with
My mathematics books and notes galore
That wait for me to learn their lines by rote
While I attempt to craft words like a smith.

Fairy Historians

I wrote a Shakespearean sonnet, but it had some problems. I let is sit for a while and then went back for revisions. Here is the side-by-side comparison of the new and then the old. Anything in italics is a change. I'll be using the new (first) version for Declamation.

Fairy Historians
I’ve never read a book that could surpass
The elven histories that have been told
By those historians who, with raised glass,
Pay homage to the troubadours of old.
I’ve never seen a film that could retell
In grandeur satisfactory the tale
Of Quasimodo and his ancient bell,
Or show the beauty of old Durin's dale.
I’ve never heard a song that could declare
Through all creation God’s fantastic works
Than Rimsky’s joyful Easter overture
With all its idiosyncratic quirks.
The likenesses of this grand, fallen world
Are sung by fairies who through Earth have twirled.

Creation's Troubadour
I never read a book that could surpass
The elven histories that have been told
By those historians who, in the grass,
Pay homage to the troubadours of old.
I never saw a film that could retell
In grandeur satisfactory the tale
Of Quasimodo and his glorious bell,
Or show the beauty of old Durin's dale.
I never heard a song that could impart
To all creation God's most wond'rous love
More fully than the highest French Horn part
that soars in celebration of each cove.
Creation is its own inspired Bard
More lovely, poignant than a greeting card.

Gathering Stars

In Cabresto Canyon all was quiet and dark except for the last sliver of Moon winking at the Sun. The breeze skipped across the forest floor bringing the tingly, earthy scent of pine needles to the star-watchers. It then left the floor to dance in the heights imitating rain in the aspen leaves. I layed on the half-rotted deck, ancient, rusty nails prodded my back and legs whenever I moved. While Mrs. Anderson on one side and Chloe on the other pointed to the different constellations, Mama and I watched as the older stars crept nearer as newer ones appeared behind. I felt like the stars were so close that I could reach up and gather them into my pocket. As the breeze left for greater and higher games I watched puffs of steam rise across the deck from every frozen nose.

In Cabresto Canyon all was quiet and dark while nine cold and tired people dragged themselves inside to curl up by the fire and toast s’mores.

Creation's Troubadour

One of our rhetoric assignments is to write an English or Shakespearean Sonnet. Fourteen lines of iambic pentameter, three quatrains and one couplet. The rhyme pattern is abab, cdcd, efef, gg. This is the first poem I have ever written and I'm rather excited with how it turned out.

I never read a book that could surpass
The elven histories that have been told
By those historians who, in the grass,
Pay homage to the troubadours of old.
I never saw a film that could retell
In grandeur satisfactory the tale
Of Quasimodo and his glorious bell,
Or show the beauty of old Durin's dale.
I never heard a song that could impart
To all creation God's most wond'rous love
More fully than the highest French Horn part
that soars in celebration of each cove.
Creation is its own inspired Bard
More lovely, poignant than a greeting card.

The Monster Food

Hearken to my tale and heed my warnings for there may come a time when you will be called upon to defend your family from monsters. This monster does not live in a closet or under the bed; it makes its home in the kitchen. It sits in the oven or refrigerator waiting for some unsuspecting victim to become curious enough to pull it from its hiding place. Tomatoes, zucchinis, breadcrumbs, and cheese make the substance of this hideous casserole. The tomatoes are sliced thickly so there is no chance of avoiding them and even the tiniest bits squirt hot juice down your throat when bitten into. The zucchinis are not much better. They have been cut into fat rounds that soak up the tomato juice and the cooking oil and transform those into a slime that they use as their only defense mechanism by coating your tongue and throat as they slip and slide around your mouth and down your throat. The breadcrumbs are the vilest members of this noisome dish. Spread thoroughly across the top they get the full brunt of the oven’s heat which transforms the finest crumb into a piece of sand-like grit that etches its existence on unsuspecting teeth. The cheese lies limply across the vegetables, it has no more ambition to make things taste good than the sloth has to work.

Beware the monster casserole that waits within your ‘fridge. Siren-like it will seduce you with bewitching scents but it will destroy your will to try new foods forever.

Bubble Castles

The air sparkled like a diamond, the sky was bright with sunshine hidden by clouds that had given all they could, and the breeze wafted the clean, sweet scent of greasewood toward the green-roofed cabin on the tree-line. All morning wave after wave of wet warriors had swept across the meadow, throwing themselves against the ground in futile attempts to crush the defiant foliage. The triumphant vegetation stood proud and dripping, each sagebrush leaf and meadow grass spike was coated in the remains of defeated raindrops.

I sat on the weather stained porch tracing the paths of long dead worms in the log walls of the cabin. My small purple plastic jar sat open on the wide grey plank beside me with its bright green wand peeking over the rim. I pulled the wand out of its soapy hiding place and blew one glorious, wobbly, gigantic bubble. As it floated toward the meadow I dreaded its inevitable demise. It drifted downward and settled intact on the meadow grass. I blew another and another and watched in awe as the bubbles joined forces with the remains of the raindrops to vanquish the meadow, not by force or strength but beauty. My family joined me and barefoot in the mud we spent the afternoon on the meadow building castles made of soap with neon green and pink wands.

Chichester Psalms*

For those of you who don't know I'm in the school choir and for our spring concert on April 21 we are performing, among other things, the Chichester Psalms composed by Leonard Bernstein. Dr. Erb has told us to find a version to listen to, and I thought I'd let y'all find it right here. I love the theme of the first movement, and the surprise in the second movement valde mihi placet. *Ahem* Sorry, it makes me very happy. Enjoy!

Chichester Psalms for Chorus and Orchestra/I. Psalm 108 (verse 2) & Psalm 100 (complete) - New York Philharmonic;Leonard Bernstein

Chichester Psalms For Chorus And Orchestra/II. Psalm 23, entire; Psalm 2, verses 1 - 4* - Leonard Bernstein

Chichester Psalms For Chorus And Orchestra/III. Psalm 131, entire; Psalm 133, verse 1 - Leonard Bernstein

White As Snow*

This is the most amazing song. Only U2 could write a song about a Muslim dying of a gunshot wound and looking for 'the lamb as white as snow' and actually get away with it. People will be going around singing it without realizing what they are saying. My favorite element of the song is the melody. They use the main theme from O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, but they never get to "Rejoice! Rejoice!" because there is nothing for the Muslim to rejoice about.

White As Snow - U2

The Fortnightly Purse at Amoretti

This is one of the coolest purses so far. Check it out!

Amoretti

He Is A Good Man

We were supposed to write a speech for declamation praising or blaming/denouncing someone or something using the figures of speech we just learned. I chose my dad.

The most amazing person I know is my dad. He will never praise himself, his family can't say enough good things about him. He is a prosecutor in the Santa Fe district attorney's office, a loving father, a faithful husband, and a strong Christian. Over the years our family has had, like all families do, difficulties. When my parents were in a situation that would have torn apart most marriages my dad was the glue that kept them together. Last year he got a job 250 miles away from where we were then living, and every Friday he drove home to see Mama and me, then worked hard to get the house ready to sell, and then on Sunday drove the 250 miles back to work. While we were getting ready to move Daddy, being his normal helpful self, stayed with my grandparents. He cooked, cleaned, did laundry, even dealt with their health problems at the hospital.
Recently Mama and Daddy joined a CREC mission church after spending several years at a non-denominational church. The difference in my dad is amazing; he is around strong Christian men and he is becoming even more confident in his role in the church. To my sister and me he is more than a father, he's a friend. He is determined that we will know how to manage our money so he taught us.
The absolute best thing about him is his ability, whether it's work, parenting, marriage, or faith, to stick with what he's doing even if it's unpleasant.



Here are the figures I used: Climax (prosecutor, father, husband, Christian), Anastrophe (like all families do), Metaphor (the glue that held them together), Polysyndeton (cooked, cleaned...; parenting, marriage...), Apposition (difference, becoming more confident), Alliteration (father, friend), Ellipsis (...taught us.).

Thump, Bump, Bump.

The sky was gray and glowing. A light breeze swirled the snow in little tizzies. The day was shaping up to be one of the best yet. Friends, food, games and movies were all on the agenda.

Getting inside and changing out of fancy clothes was all that was wanted. Steep, narrow concrete steps were the only obstacle between Elaine and her goal. Holding her coffee mug and carrying her bag in front of her she made her way along the deck towards the steps. As she made her way down the stairs her mind was occupied with what she would do when she got inside. As she was about to reach the point where the stairs curved around she misjudged where her foot was placed on the step and instead of having her weight land on the middle of the step she stepped on the front.

The world went spinning as her foot slipped out from underneath her and her weight precipitated her headfirst down the stairs. She heard a loud crack as her mug slammed against the concrete. Her bag was sandwiched between her ribs and the concrete. Her right hand shot out to save her as she prayed that she wouldn't go head over heels. Knees and shins were bouncing and scraping behind her as she skidded toward the bottom and came to rest.

Her mind whirled as she tried to grasp what just happened. Her shoe was caught on her skirt, she couldn't feel her right hand, and her left knee was tingling. Her brain screamed but her mouth couldn't form the word “HELP!” All that came out was a whimpering moan. As her moans grew louder her roommate came to the rescue.

The sky was dull and gray. A chill wind whipped the snow around in circles. The day was turning into one of the worst yet. First aid, ice packs, medicine and sleeping were now on the agenda.

Punctuation

I discovered something interesting about myself today: I am a question mark.

You Are a Question Mark

You seek knowledge and insight in every form possible. You love learning. And while you know a lot, you don't act like a know it all. You're open to learning you're wrong. You ask a lot of questions, collect a lot of data, and always dig deep to find out more. You're naturally curious and inquisitive. You jump to ask a question when the opportunity arises. Your friends see you as interesting, insightful, and thought provoking. (But they're not always up for the intense inquisitions that you love!) You excel in: Higher education You get along best with: The Comma

What Punctuation Mark Are You?

All Things Bright and Beautiful

Idaho

Colorado

Colorado

New Mexico

New Mexico