We Like The Moon (Especially The Full Moon)

Friends (I am very behind on my photo-posting.)

We like the clouds, the clouds are very good to us...

Inner cacophony

I've been meaning to put this up for awhile.

"Wanting to be someone you're not is a waste of the person you are"
~Kurt Cobain (1967-1994)

I find myself heartily agreeing and feebly protesting. But that does not matter, I feel the truth of it regardless.

Crash

(Feedback, please :) )

“Wait!” I yelled after him,

“Pointer! Wait for me!”

            He was bleeding badly; a piece of Dramaticon shrapnel had ripped the side of his right calf open and blood drops spattered the tree tops as he shot away.

            I jumped on my Rotor Floater -(weird name, I know. For one thing, they really don’t float, it’s more of a zooming-blow-your-cheeks-off-your-face sort of a motion), and cranked after him.

            He was riding in a North-Easterly direction through the tall pine trees, his longer-than-fashion-dictates-as-proper black hair whipping around his fine-boned face.

            I was having a hard time keeping up with him, he goes especially fast when he’s upset.

            He seemed to be heading for the lake; we had done recon around it yesterday, and Pointer had, well, pointedly remarked on how beautiful and peaceful it was. Later that day he had told me in private that the place had actually been soothing to his normally harried soul.

            I figured that he was heading there to be alone and to sort out his current emotions.

            But I, personally, did not trust him to be by himself in his current state of mind and body. I could only guess at the thoughts currently racing through his head. Erratically emotional at the best, he was down right dangerous to himself during the current circumstances.

            He’s never been all that stable, and he’s been worse since he had to leave his parents and baby sister in the Safe-tunnel at Terracone Mountain.

            He had almost reached the soft blue pudding bowl that is Benedict Lake, and I was just about ten yards behind.

            I was starting to really worry about him; he nearly crashed into a bristlecone pine at the end of the pepper-and-salt sand. He’s not all that great of a flyer as it was, but he’s also much more careful than that. It was almost as if he was entertaining some sort of a death wish.

            He crash-landed, his rotor floater sliding in the sand, it landed nearly a foot away from the softly lapping water.

            I carefully maneuvered around the bristlecone pine, the same one Pointer had almost crashed into, and landed my RF next to his.

            He had already stumbled off his Rotor floater, and was kneeling with his legs in the water, blood from his right calf trailing in the miniature surf. I couldn’t see his face, he was bent over, fists clenched to his chest.

            I knelt down next to him, and put my arms around his shoulders.

            “Pointer, it wasn’t your fault that we lost the Omotor containers,” He angrily jerked his body, nearly dislodging my arms, but I held on tighter.

            “How do you know?!” He spat, his face contorted with anguish and fury as he turned  to look into my eyes.

            The whole point of our mission had been to retrieve the highly explosive containers, but they had caught fire at the last minute. Pointer had doggedly tried to hold on, but Robert had wrestled them from him and chucked them at a pursuing Dramaticon, therefore blowing it and the entire Lonquine base up.

            A pretty successful mission, if you ask me.

            “Robert made you leave the containers,” I replied, “You would have blown up with them if he hadn’t.”

            “I should’ve put out the fire, Crash, I could’ve spat on them or something!”

            “You know that’s nuts,” I told him gently, “There was nothing you could have done”

            “Maybe you’re right,” He gave in, “But I still feel like an utter failure.”

            “Don’t, you have no right to, Pointer.” I told him, “Besides, you successfully blew up that Lonquine base, and even if it wasn’t part of the plan, it worked out pretty fillerackin’ well, if you ask me.”

            He leaned back into me, the previous rigidity in his body lost. I held him tighter. We kneeled in the water a few minutes more, letting the peace of the lake sooth us both.

           

I noticed that Pointer was still bleeding.

            “Come on, get up. We need to go back to Robert and get your leg wrapped.” I told him, giving his shoulders one last squeeze and then standing up, water dripped from my jeans.

            Pointer held up a hand, and I heaved him into a standing position.

            I kept hold of his hand as we walked back to the Rotor Floaters, supporting him as he limped along.

            We climbed onto the flying bikes, and started a much slower and safer journey back to camp, leaving the semblance of a peaceful world behind.

          We’ll be back in happier times, I promised myself, Pointer, and the lake as the wind whipped our hair and emotions behind. 

The Title Does Not Belong Here On This Post

Watermelon breath.
Lake-wet hair, canoeing. Stars,
Moon, marshmallow roasts.

Pizza, pool grass.
Sunflowers, dandelions,
Sun-scent skin, smiles.

Four leaf clovers, no
school, bare feet, freedom. Garden.
Jubilant hand-stands.


Summer
by Amoniel

Old building seen on the way back from Escalente

Wouldn't this thing be the coolest to live in? 

It's in a beautiful location too, though you can't really tell from the stupid pictures.

Sorry I didn't really take any pictures of the entire building all at once, I just snapped as quickly as I could while we drove by.

Eyelance

(Is there anything you think I can change? Please give criticism, I want to know what I can do to make this the best.)

I made my way out the door into the early morning light, book in hand, earplugs silently plugged into my ears. I wore a brown sweatshirt, to guard against the beginning-of-day chill. I opened my front-yard gate, and continued onto the road, making note of the briskly cool air, and late sunrise.  

            ‘Summer is truly over’, I thought groggily to myself, ‘the sun no longer rises at 6:30. It tops the mountains that surround the valley at about 7:15. Something like that, I’m not sure. It’s late, though.’

            I had a few blocks to walk until Main Street, and then one block up to the bus stop. There isn’t anything special about our high school bus stop in this small town, no markers, signs, or benches, just a lonely little spot between two house fronts.

           

I passed the Saope’s house at about 7:20. I don’t know much about the people that own the house except this: they are an old couple who seem to travel a lot, and they have this huge (and I mean HUGE) co-operative garage and yard sale every summer. My mother goes every year, and fills our poor, defenseless garage with even more useless treasure. We ought to have a garage sale of our own one of these summers. Maybe then we’d have room for my dad’s car, and I could get a motorcycle. My parents won’t let me get one; they say we don’t have the room. Psh….

            But I digress.

            As I walked by their front yard, I noticed two kids working, a boy who looked about eleven or twelve, and a girl who looked somewhere around sixteen.

            The girl was watering the Saope’s numerous planters, many scattered around the table in a courtyard sort of set up, and a few set cheerfully on their porch.

            ‘The Saopes must be away again’, I mused, ‘it’s too late in the year to have grandchildren over, as far as I know.’

            The girl seemed to have dressed hastily that morning; she wore different shades of dark, faded black pants, and a long sleeved navy shirt. She also wore an extremely bright orange hat, and her short, dark hair hung below.

            The boy wore khaki shorts and a gray hoodie; his hair was cropped short and was a sort of sandy blonde color. He had a cocky manner, and swaggered after the girl, who I then decided was his sister.

            Neither of them seemed to have books, bags, or backpacks about their persons, as most kids on their way to school do. Still, ‘they could have stashed them somewhere safe while they do their chores’, I acknowledged.

            I continued on my way up to the bus stop as I observed and thought.

            I arrived shortly after 7:24; no one else was yet there. I stood and waited, listening to Muse, I had turned my iPod on only after reaching the bus stop. I enjoy listening to the sounds of the outside while I can during the day. As it was, I became bored after I had reached the bus stop, so I turned on my distraction.

            I wasn’t left alone long, a brown jeep arrived and parked carefully on the left side of the road, opposite of there I stood.

            I was already resigned to school, so I didn’t bother hoping that maybe, just maybe, the bus wouldn’t reach my cozy little roadside. It’s really only the first day that’s the hardest for me, and that day was the second. I always resist some, but not enough to make me miserable. I’m a go-with-the-flow kind of guy.

            A white car arrived soon after the jeep, and parked on the right side of the road, close to an apricot tree and a tractor-like contraption. I’m still not sure quite what it was; I assume it has to do with harvesting crops. I’ve never bothered to find out.

            Casually, I reviewed my surroundings as I listened to Sunburn, a song by Muse. I observed the girl and boy from the Saope’s yard coming around the corner of Main Street.

            ‘Ah, so you do attend the same school as me’, I thought in the direction of the girl, ‘though I’m not so sure about you, shorty.’ This was directed toward the boy, good naturedly, of course, but he was, indeed, short.    

‘I assume you attend the elementary school, with either Clark or Sam’, Who are my younger brothers. They attend fourth and sixth grade. They enjoy legos, pretend sword fighting, macaroni and cheese, annoying Lavinia (My little sister. Don’t ask me where my parents got that name.), and repeatedly breaking their teeth.

            ‘Of course, you could be in junior High, and in that case, neither of my brothers would know you.’ I thought. It was possible, maybe he was of middle school age, but just hadn’t quite reached that long and lanky growth spurt yet. His age was rather hard to get as I thought more and more.

            The girl walked with a kind of life-loving grace, I could almost see her personality and soul within every step she took. That is, until she seemed to spot our patiently waiting little group. Then she folded her arms tightly around her chest, and her charisma seemed to fold right into her along with her arms. She seemed to become almost withdrawn. She began to walk faster, leaving her brother behind as she maintained her pace. She kept her gaze on the ground, or straight ahead with little sidelong glances at the cars and me.

            When she was about two thirds of the way to the cars and me, she glanced back at the boy; at that point I realized that they still weren’t carrying any school supplies. I, myself, clasped a green notebook under one arm. All of my other school supplies, books, pencils, and such, were already in my locker.

            The girl suddenly stopped when she realized that her brother had fallen behind, to let him catch up, and they continued walking.

            When they reached the bus stop, instead of stopping on either side of the road, they advanced on up the block, and avoided eye contact with everyone.

            I watched them sidelong until they reached the stream two quarters of the way up the block, until the bus finally arrived at 7:36. It was then that it hit me, ‘they must be homeschoolers; it might even be that they are THE homeschoolers.’

I had never seen either of them before. From what I could tell, they were probably in the first ward, too, but I had never encountered either of them before that morning. They must have been the famous, though rarely encountered, homeschoolers, the ones with the well-known German shepherd the ones who, I’ve been told, used to attend church, but stopped some years ago without any easily apparent reasons.

            As I boarded the bus, I realized that I was intrigued about the girl.

            I once read “Stargirl” for a class, and there was something about the homeschooled girl that reminded me of that character. Perhaps it was that easy grace, and the zaniness from the clothes and hat, but then again, it could have just been because I came to the conclusion that she was homeschooled, as was Stargirl.

            I greeted my friends, “Hey!” “hey.”, and sat down next to Paul.

            As the bus drove away, I turned to look out the back window, the window behind my seat, and saw the girl looking directly at me.

            She looked with a kind of drilling gaze, curious and probing, and strangely wary. Her eyes evoked curiosity in me. I felt as if my very soul had been laid bare, which was strange, the girl was quite a long way behind the bus, and I’m not sure how I even got the sensation of eye contact.

            I will never forget the piercing curiosity and wariness of her green eyes.

Written-in-the-Margin

I always
forget that
you wear
glasses,
but your
hair is
beautiful.
How do
I tell
someone
like you
something
like that?

Strangely
enough,
in that
one dream
you drove
a truck
what could
that mean?

Thoughts
flicker and
die as I
try to
remember
your face
and that
feeling.

I try
not to expect
anything,
but still,
sir, you
said you
would
call me.
And you
still haven't.

Snowdrops

The sound of windchimes
softly play. I shovel new
borne snow, cleansed is soul.