Sometimes, all I want to do is lay out back on the trampoline, breathing in the strong gusts of wind that skid across my face as they fly toward the trees, and once they hit them, rustle like applause at my patience. The air is so clear, even when the sky isn't, and as it is placed so perfectly centered in betwee both sets of woods, it is a private club house without any walls where thoughts can enter freely. At that spot, I discovered so many little beauties, the large scent of cinnamon gliding freely from the pages of a borrowed chapter book, the neighbors' crooked curtains floating heavily to the sill, embraced in their dark green hue the sun seems attracted to, and the loud screech of angry birds as Rain attempts to steal their babies. The moment is always lost but at the same time more found than ever before. It is like being trapped in a graceful, still world of nothing but peace and harmony. It's almost meditation, with less silliness and more bliss.
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It is a FIRST draft, which means I want a ton of critique, mmkay?
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