The light blue house on Wagonwheel Way was mine to claim. The small trees gave me shade in the summer, inspiration in fall, movement in winter, and hope in the spring. Every year, mystery flower bulbs were planted in our humble garden. When the snow had been long gone, and the sun fought to stay up in the sky, bits of green would pop up out of the brown earth. After a month or so, the flowers stopped being shy. They bloomed with no warning, taking in the suns warm rays. Scores of colors accented my home. Too bad my excessive sneezing forbids me to spend more time among the scented, vivid heaven.
*****
I think I want to put part of this in my paper somewhere. I wrote it for Creative Writing as part of my memoir, but I never used it. Not that any of you care... I worked hard on it, and if I add a little more to it, I think I can add it to that scholarship.
Also, I don't think I want to have this blog anymore. There's no point. I realized that I'm writing for all of you. That's not how it should be; I should be writing for me. So if one day you come back to this blog and it's not here anymore, you'll know why.
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