sjsprWriting

The wind brushes up against me. Cool and refreshing. As gentle waves come up and bump against the lake water rocks, I am sure I can feel the sun rising somewhere else, somewhere distant. Across the lake I see small towns... clusters of spirits, of human thoughts, wants, and dreams. Memories of my childhood linger in my mind. Fresh rasberries that I would hand pick from my great grandmothers garden. The lives of peopl ewho had lived there before still linger in the leaves of the apple trees and the dark soil. I used to sit on an ancient swing in that garden and I used to move my body with such momentum that I could amost imagine myself being flung far past the Earth's atmosphere and deep into an oblivion called space. Colors fill these almost forgotten remembrances. Bright and vivid they shine with peacefullness and love. With well being. Years later that mystique place was sold and abandoned. Overgrown bushes cover the small space of land and it no longer holds the sense of home to me. However, if you look hard enough you can still seet he lives of the forgotten people. You can still feel their spirits.