Next up in the old (actually) written journal is an excerpt from a paper I wrote in college about my Pawpaw”: He was a kind and caring man in whom I placed my constant trust. When other children were looking toward their televisions for heroes, I had mine within reach. My thoughts take me back to a time long passed when my Grandfather and I would pick oranges in a grove in Florida. Am small, fragile child holding the large, caring hand of her Grandfather while walking amidst the fragrance of citrus…
The next is an entire paper I wrote from my Eng101 class. The teacher’s comment was “A lovely contrast between the old man, colors and children.” 1986-10-07
The shadows of the mountains loom ominously through the hollow as the sun begins to set. With the growing absence of sun comes the chill which lets the inhabitants know the first frost is upon them. As it grows darker, the children scurry back to their homes as rabbits do to their den, leaving the pathways lonely. Solitaire except for a single spirit that hovers just above the trees. Very few have seen her coming. The old feel her as their bones creak and the cold creeps into them. They know it is she ho comes again to the mountains. The beautiful spirit of autumn. A touch from her slender, fragile finger sends an array of color throughout the forest. Her warm calling is a lullaby to the animals as they take their places for a winter’s rest. Seeing her job done, she leaves as gracefully as she made her appearance, into the night, until the next season.
Morning begins to break as the light dances across the calm lake. The air is still until the voices of life are heard. The children run to play with their eyes open wide in awe of the splendid colors. The old man hobbles out to his porch, to his worn rocking chair. He takes his usual position looking out, across the lake and even further to the mountains. Looking at the splash of autumn through the hill he remembers when he was a child, a tear falling from his cheek. He realizes and accepts that this is his last glimpse of nature’s miracles. He rises and makes his way to the lakeside where he sits on a large familiar stone. The water laps gently against its surface, making it cool. The sound is soothing. It calls him to sleep. He rests his head against the hard stone, letting the water’s music lull him to sleep, a peaceful sleep, his last sleep.
1987-03-16: Happiness comes into my life in sudden brilliant bursts that fade just as suddenly. How long will my happy, fun-loving feeling stay this time? Will it flee like all the times before or will it tease me and linger a while longer…
1988-07-11: The harmony of the water as it joins with the sun is a vivid song that is heard with the eyes and not the ears.
1987-Fall English Comp – describe senses without common adjectives for the sense:
I am the sight of exhaustion
I am the taste of PB&J
I am the sound of warm laughter
I am the touch of the outdoors while camping
I am the smell of fresh sheets
Tonight I miss my Ma. It suddenly felt weird. I miss Ma but I have compartmentalized my Daddy’s death to a point that I cannot “envision” (for lack of a better word) the two of them dead at the same time – occupying the same heavenly cloud. My grief is so different this go around than the first. I miss Daddy as if he were just around the corner. I miss Ma like in an absence that is indescribable.
I found this image here: http://hdwallpapersrocks.com/widescreen/sunflowers-with-sunrise-hd-nature-view-wallpapers/
Categories: Personal History / My Own Words