The end of school is finally upon me, and it is utterly amazing.
This last week I've actually been moving. (I'll post a picture once I'm all settled, and I'll give a tour.)
This is my first experience living on my own.
It's possible I'll have a roommate in the near future, she's quite awesome, but right now, it's just me.
I live in a small cabin, on a base of a camp, facing the lake. (Here's a link: click me!)
There are no lions, tigers, or bears. (Not in the Midwest . . . maybe mountain lions, oh, and coyotes.) But there is a plethora of creepy crawlers--which is enough to keep me awake in the wee hours of the night.
I've been reading again, which just so happens to be the best feeling ever. Once I'm completely settled, I'll start writing again. My main character, Noah, has found himself settled on the outskirts of my mind. He's been hiking around up there, hoping that I'll eventually hear him out enough to write all of his thoughts down.
Oh, I'll get to it.
With the summer comes a long internship, many campers, and probably a few tick bites.
I'm sure I'll encounter hardships along the way that will bring on tears as well.
For it seems like I'm always crying these days. . . . . I'll make it through.
I'm trying to hold onto this promise that brought me here in the first place. I swear, I feel it slipping away from me, though.
The words that were once so clear seem muted. And I know this promise doesn't entail all good things, but part of me still hopes that it does.
And I hope that I can mend things with my dear friend, my labyrinth.
I guess I'll go ahead and wrap things up before I get too mushy.
Below is a poem I read today by the great Robert Frost:
Lovers, forget your love,
And list to the love of these,
She a window flower,
And he a winter breeze.
When the frosty window veil
Was melted down at noon,
And the caged yellow bird
Hung over her in tune,
He marked her though the pane,
He could not help but mark,
And only passed her by
To come again at dark.
He was a winter wind,
Concerned with ice and snow,
Dead weeds and unmated birds,
And little of love could know.
But he signed upon the sill,
He gave the sash a shake,
As witness all within
Who lay that night awake.
Perchange he half prevailed
To win her for the flight
From the firelight looking-glass
And warm stove-window light.
But the flower leaned aside
And thought of naught to say,
And morning found the breeze
A hundred miles away.
