Relief Of Tension

This is something that sort of exploded out due to high levels of stress, thus the ending is abrupt.

Found Original Picture Here

She looked all around her. Were they still following her? Had she gotten away or were they just waiting for the right time to strike? She didn't see them, but she thought she was safe before and then they were there in a blink of an eye, chasing and surrounding her. She thought she was safe, but she wasn't. Would she ever be? The thought of them made her run faster and faster until her legs ached and breath was hard to come by. She stopped, hands on her knees, gasping for air with her eyes closed. The image of slimly green heads appearing from over the hill ran through her mind so vividly that her eyes flew open and she turned in a circle looking for any sign of them. Her ears strained for the unnatural slither like footsteps, but all she heard was birds, and the leaves lightly rustling in their branches from the persuasion of the breeze. The breeze reassured her; the smell of dirt and folliage of her world made her nose rejoice. 

She sat upon the soft blade filled patch of earth beneath a tree. She swung her backpack off her shoulders, pulled out her canteen and a NSB bar. She chugged the water as if it were an antidote and she had been poisoned. Then she forced herself to eat the bar. Lying down with her backpack as a pillow, she looked up at the cloudless sky, as consciousness slipped from her. 

The sound of footsteps on the ground woke her. The footsteps were close, to close. A vast dark shape was the only thing she could make out when she opened her eyes. It was right by her feet which made her scurry back against the tree, and face to the unknown she backed around the tree, and then took off running. They had found her. Again they had found her. She had thought she had hidden her scent. but maybe she was wrong; maybe it had broken. What would she do if it had? Was John even still alive? Most likely, but the chance of her finding him again was improbable. Maybe she could fix it. She needed a plan, a place to go. Just as she was calculating a strategy, something tackled her to the ground. As she struggled to turn on her back she realized something was off. It was the smell. There was no unnatural sulfur like stench. 

Two unexpected things have made me very happy Saturday

The first is something I saw through the bus window on my way to school. On the hospital side of the corner where State Street and Bulldog Boulevard meet I saw a guy randomly dancing by himself. Now this was not just a guy doing a little jig; this was a full on, seemingly choreographed, dance. I will try to recreate the image, but my words will most likely come up short. This was a man sporting a exquisite black façade including a splendid hat of which at one point he threw into the air busted a move then caught his hat and continued on. It was very impressive. I felt like I was in one of those movies where people start breaking into dance and the whole world accepts it as a perfectly normal thing and doesn’t look twice. Except for me, because I stared in unexpected delight.

Then while walking to the bathroom on the third floor of the library I saw this sign.

It made me want to run full-fledged at the wall to see if I would pass through into some special magical wizard bathroom. It just makes me wonder what was hidden on the other side. (They probably used an extension charm so muggles couldn’t tell that it was there.) I also think there was a muggle-repelling charm on the wall, because just as I thought about running through it I suddenly remembered I had a paper to write and had to hurry off.

My RA Thesis

Art appreciation 2: can art make a difference is a fairly effective argument by Gwyn Michael to convince readers, through the use of personal experience, rhetorical questions, and examples of her own work, that art can make a difference in people’s lives both through the process of creating and viewing it.

M.S. Merwin - I Like That Guy.

I didn't take this picture; I got it from here.

Today, when I strode into my English class at 2:55pm (class starts at 3) to a crowd of empty seats voicelessly screaming at me; I naturally started to freak out. Questions rushed through my brain and panic increased my heart rate as I checked the time, checked my schedule to make sure I got the time right, then I texted Madison. The impending doom of failure started to encircle me; you know, that abhorrent feeling that creeps into your chest when you want to be doing the right thing but are thwarted by something as simple as lack of knowledge. Although I was not standing in an abandoned room for too long, but just long enough for Madison (bless her soul) to respond to my text, and another person of my class who had not checked their e-mail lately to walk through the door. It was nice to find out that class had been canceled due to a poetry reading, of which all who attended would receive extra credit. How awesome is that? I have never been to a poetry reading but I have wanted to go to one. So my fellow classmate and I walked to the JSB where I was early enough to catch most of the introduction of the award winning poet W.S. Merwin. To be frank, I wasn’t paying much attention to the introduction partly because I was focused on getting my notebook out and also because the guy talking sounded a little boring. Luckily, the guy with a lack of voice fluctuation was not W. S. Merwin. Relief ran through me as the 84 year old Merwin took the pulpit and words skipped and jumped from his mouth. He started out by giving the audience the chance to ask him four questions and then started the reading with one of his earlier works that he wrote when he was 28. He read a bunch of different poems, and ended the reading with one of his more recent poems: The Laughing Thrush. I could go through my notes and tell all the poems he read, but I don’t feel like throwing anyone into fits of tears from boredom. Although, I will share one of the poems I liked from the reading:

Dusk in Winter

The sun sets in the cold without friends

Without reproaches after all it has done for us

It goes down believing in nothing

When it has gone I hear the stream running after it

It has brought its flute it is a long way

I like poetry because it makes you think about life and ordinary things on a deeper level. It makes you stop and examine something that you probably wouldn’t normally think twice about.   As Merwin eloquently stated “Poetry is there to explain things that can’t be explained”, and I agree with that, no matter how contradictory it may sound at first. In conclusion, W.S. Merwin writes some good poems, and I am excited about reading one of his books. Although, this is from a girl who was excited to get 101 Famous Poems for Christmas, so judge me accordingly.