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Ok so in CW, I guess it really wasn't that eventful. I mean all we did was our journal and. Mr. Byers talked the whole time about this text book reading assignment. I know it's Creative writing so why are we reading out of a text book. I don't know go ask him. Um but I got a few good things out of us, he showed us some pretty amazing poems. One's by Emily Dickens (<3).

To Make a Prairie
By Emily Dickens.

To make a prairie
It takes a clover and a bee
One clover, and a bee, and revery.
The revery alone will do
If bees are few.

Absolutely gorgeous. I love how revery (yes she spells it that way) isn't an actual word. So in such few words and with out saying it point blank she's telling us to use our imagination. Now I know how cheesy this sounds but imagination can do anything

Ok so back to why I titled this entry rain. It's because of our journal, free response, to a picture. Simple. Easy. Short? Unlimited. At first a saw picture response and I wasn't too thrilled, but he surprised me. He pulled out a photograph of a sweet, seven year old girl: blond hair, blue eyes. Innocent. She had a serene look on her face, staring out of a window with rain water trickling down. Nothing special I guess, but like I said possibilities were unlimited. I came up with a short story. It's caca at the moment, but it has potential I think. A story that came to me. my muse bit me. So I'll write it down. Comment it. Critic it. Tear it up. Burn it. Adore it. Hate it. Be brutal. Be kind. Be helpful. Be worthless. I don't care.



A day gone bad

I sit in front of the window, raindrops pittering against the tin roof of the house, creating a sweet metallic ring; a series of melodic clangs of percussion, creating a musical cacophony. There is a beauty in in rain, though it may be gloomy and keep me inside from play, there is a beauty to it. The way the clouds form up above, creating one large grey illuminating cloud, letting what little sunlight there is to filter through. There's a beauty the way the rain hits the window in a spackle only to trail down the window being pulled down by gravity. Not able to overcome the force but yet create it own unique path none-the-less. There is such a tranquil beauty to it that I just can't hate the rain for keeping me home bound.

Today was supposed to be a magical day off from school. It should have been a faerie tale. Had it not been for the rain I would be out playing in the front yard making mud pies. (I'm the best mud pie maker there is) And right as I'm half way through Daddy will pull up in his sleek, black car, cut the engine and step out holding his suit case in his hand. He'll see me in the front yard and at that moment drop his suite case and pick me up, cradling me in his arms, creating one huge hug that never ends. Not caring that my hands are all muddy. Not caring that I'm leaving muddy hand prints on his suite. In his arms I'll be able to breathe in his scent, the scent that has been absent from my world for weeks.

But that fantasy won't come true today, not with this rain. Though an equal faerie tale will occur I'm sure of it. Seconds tick away, turning into minutes, minutes turn into hours. As I sit there staring out of the window waiting for Daddy to come home. Never moving from my seat unless the bathroom calls and even then I'm quick not wanting to miss anything. Soon the sky darkens the sun setting, the rain never seizing. Thoughts race through my mind. Maybe he found another family to love. Maybe he had found his own faerie tale, and found out that battling dragons, and rescuing, damsels in distress, was far better then Mommy, and his own child (me). Soon the porch light is lit and Mommy comes and cradles me rocking me gently back and forth, looking out the window with me. Waiting.

We waited 'till well past midnight. Both of us growing more and more anxious with each passing minute. I remember staring out into the night listening to the rain fall down, no longer to see much past the porch light. I don't know when but I know I had fallen asleep in my mother's arms, I don't think she ever fell asleep. And she had somehow managed to stay awake awaiting the return of her beloved husband. I never saw my father that night, he never made it home. It wasn't until at the unseemly hours of the morning, well before the sun would even rise. We received that terrible call that every wife dreads to receive, the news that every child dreads to hear. It was a call from the police, he had died in a fatal car crash. The details? he had been speeding, driving down the highway in a rush to get home, wanting to be with his wife, and his beautiful little girl. An elk ran in front of the car. He slammed on the brakes; his vehicle fishtailing and eventually swerving out of control and off the road, his car rolling off the edge of the cliff. He died instantly. The rain killed him.

I will always remember, the way the raindrops pittered against the tin roof of the house, creating a mournful ring, like the church bells; the melodic clangs of percussion, creating a musical lament.