A physical place,
Where I go
To be myself without judgement,
And relax after a hard day
A collection of events within my life,
And the actions, people and places they have led me,
The places they have lead me to feel comfortable,
Carefree, buoyant, and places I simply go and enjoy being there.
Of these I have many.
100 Keswick Circle:
Where I go when I need food,
or just some Alone time.
When I walk in the garage,
I am greeted by the chirping of Flash,
my beloved pheasant
My six hares also greet me,
Zoe stretches, and yawns,
Opening her mouth and showing her fangs,
As if she were a lion.
His velvety soft, brown and white marbled fur
makes him appear so cute and innocent.
How could such a sweet rabbit be so obnoxious?
Mr. Rabbit is out of sight,
Rolled up in his camo blanket,
Completely hidden in his wooden box,
Like a hunter in a blind.
Dextar, stands up on his back legs,
Revealing his belly, white as hominy,
Paws crossed in front of him,
I know he wants a treat.
Sugar, her sleek white fur,
A vivid contrast to the dark blue wooly mat,
That she lays on, all stretched out,
As if she were a queen.
Wilber gnaws on a stick,
As if he were a beaver.
Home would be different without my furry friends.
6744 Wheelbarger Road:
Here I go often,
Whether to practice basketball,
Mow the lawn, work in the wood shop,
Or simply visit my chickens.
And, of course, my grandparents.
Farm Choice, My job:
Hot in the summer, and frigid in the winter,
There I am respected, as if I were an adult,
I am in charge of boots and jeans,
But also load feed and seed, clean,
Answer the phone, assist customers,
And do anything that is asked of me.
My church, Weavers Mennonite:
I walk into the sanctuary,
The sun streams in through red and blue stained glass windows,
The colors dance across the cranberry red carpet,
A long time “home”,
Here I was baptized, and
From Bible School and Children's Church,
Girl’s Club, Junior and Senior Youth Group,
To annual events like the Walk Through Bethlehem,
And special occasions like communion,
Here I have learned about God weekly,
And worshiped Him along with fellow believers,
Through hymns, praise music and communion.
Home, an emotion.
A feeling of belonging,
Not dependent on location, but on action.
I get this feeling from basketball,
No matter where I am,
Or who I am with.
Passion for basketball itself fuels me.
When I am on the court,
Nothing else matters
Whether in practice,
in an intense game,
Or simply shooting hoops on my own.
I am overcome with emotion,
as if I were surrounded by energy itself,
From the continuous yelling of my coach,
Begging me to box out,
To the magical “Shoosh” of a three floating through the net,
When I’m on the court I’m at home,
And until the final buzzer rings,
Life feels perfect.
Running also yields a similar emotion,
A green pasture in stressful times,
As I run along the narrow trail,
Through the dense woods,
Or at the Wilbur Pence track,
Past the shiny, silver bench
Thoughts swirl around in my head,
Sometimes ideas for school projects,
or solutions to problems,
Sometimes just silly little rhymes are created,
With each new deep thought,
I drift further and further away from the reality:
My body is in pain,
Gasping for breath with every stride,
Drops of sweat falling off of me,
Like drops of water fall from a tree after it rains
Until I am lost in my thoughts,
Suddenly, a squirrel scampers out in front of me,
I stop abruptly,
The squirrel scurries into the dense underbrush
Reality then hits me,
Like a falling acorn strikes the ground,
I must continue
Pushing myself to my limit,
I fight against my burning legs,
And my bursting lungs,
Wanting to stop, and yet wanting to continue
Competing against time,
Other days I slowly jog along,
And let the serenity flow over me,
That being active in God’s creation yields.
Like milk flows over frosted flakes,
Home are the places where
You can pretend everything is perfect,
If even for a moment.
No reviews yet.