My daughter gifted me her project.
She made for her school. A living place;
With pink construction papers. In a manila folder.
The floor and the shelf were made with lots of ice-cream sticks.
The bed was also made with ice-cream sticks glued with glue gun.
It had a collection of colorful buttons, just like petals.
Lots and lots of colorful beanbags to relax on.
And pleasantly, it had a square window.
A rare glimpse of a deep blue sky!
I see a tree from the window
In the dining area, an oak tree.
With solid branches, green leaves.
When sunlight reflects on those leaves, birds chirp,
Squirrels hop and play together on the tree branches…
I feel I had tasks undone that I should have
Wrapped up yesterday. Painful emotion.
That old oak tree will always be there,
Beside the window unless there is a need,
To cut down the green leafy branches, age-old memories.
I see my daughter playing with her long hair, untied. Smiling.
I see tiny birds on the tree branch. I see beauty and colors.
A waterfall is neither a moon beam nor is it icing dripping from a big cake. It is wise to build fortresses of ice in skating weather but skiing weather cannot make the deadline so the cross country brigade of brigadoons are in areas unvisited and therefore unexplored by mankind. Cleanliness in a goblet goo and bleached bath bombs can eradicate even the most stale smell of blemished food. But watching a movie on a six mile screen is equivalent to eating banana peel on a motorway in a lay by. Tailoring treating treatments taking talismanic traders talking trees. And a big wide berthed arch on a canal path is exemplary style of an architectural wonder. Xx beanbags xx diagramming diamonds xx stratification z that was the p y q reporting from a snow globe.
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