And then. . .

Last Saturday, I used an analogy that I believe gives an accurate description to one of the processes that takes place in my mind. I call it the balloons in mind. Because it's my last year of school, because it's things I worry about, because it's that person I just don't know how to deal with, because you don't know how to get the wording right, because what's going to happen in June, because, because, because, because... Because as I think of all these things I blow another breath of air into the balloons in my mind.They continue to expand and grow until the red one is bigger than the blue one, and the yellow gets pushed to the side, while the orange one, it stay the size of a medium grapefruit. With each conversation, as the breath travels up my chest and out of the pink flesh of my lungs, and into my mouth that tastes like coffee, a breath is exhaled. My words are exhaled into the balloons. They get filled with the worry and the doubt and the hopes and ...

The sky is clear as glass. A bright, blue, technicolor vivid. Below, it's mirrored reflection bounces on and on in the infinite blue of the water. The trees embracing the lake, stand still, towering guards. The bottle neck opening provides the only open space from the endless branches, leaves, and acorns interweaved tightly together. A canopy of life and green and earth. Suddenly, The steps of a stranger interrupt. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch .The dead animal soles echo. He walks to the edge of the lake and stares. Brown eyes attempting to take in all the blue. He looks at the trees, the water, the sky, and yells. Loud. Hard. The scream bursting out from the center of his body, out of his mouth opened wide. Stretched to the seams of where his lips meet. About to stretch apart if they could. His stomach slowly sinking in on itself as all the air vacates his body. It goes on. Long. Deafening, until he can't breath. Till the scream turns into a hoarse whisper and only his mout...

perhaps it is cliche , but there is something special about desert rain. i've lived where it has rained for weeks on end, and although special, because i love rain,  it doesn't hold the same whimsical quality. whimsical. i use this word for lack of a better term. but today running through a river of rainwater racing down the depression in the mountain my campus sits in, the Sun Bowl, didn't cause frustration. instead a bubbling of laughter rose from my core. squeals escaped as the down pour increased its drenching rhythm. the splash my sandal-ed feet made echoed with exaggerated suction as i pulled away from the rain insistent in encompassing me. rain drops ran down my shortly cropped hair into my eyes, drops ran down my naked arms, splashed onto my bare legs, until i was soaked. and still more laughter escaped me because of the fruitless effort of those around me carrying umbrellas and scurrying against the running water. inside we all looked drowned and soggy; col...

I need to make some clarifications before I post this.      1. I think clowns are creepy     2. a student picked this image for a writing prompt.      3. This was written in 5 minutes     3. most of the photo's were of IT. They Don't All Float White clad faces red nose changin' small car playin'                     HONK!                     BING!                     BAM!                     BOOM! Elephants trippin' tight rope walkers flyin' Lion tamers shakin' ALL        FOR                    LOL'S!                    OMG'S!               ...