etcetera

My dog died over the weekend. I'm really sad and wish that I wasn't in school in Montana. I had a 2week SB that made me wish I was 14. But now I'm here and there's 4 weeks left and a teacher gave me a C and told me that I have some of the most beautiful poetic language she's seen.

I'm all confused and unsettled. I wish I wasn't.

Here, as promised, is a poem. Not my own, but Mary Oliver's:

Ordinarily I go to the woods alone, with not a single

friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore

unsuitable.

I don't really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds

or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of

praying, as you no doubt have yours.

Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit

on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds,

until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost

unhearable sound of the roses singing.

If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love

you very much.

-How I Go to the Woods

And here's a lovely ending to an E.E.Cummings poem:

(dreaming,

et

cetera,of

Your smile

eyes knees and of your Etcetera)

Chynna

P.S. I am not really as sensitive and emotional as I have painted myself in my posts thus far. I promise.

P.P.S. Samwell, do you have info on this summer for me yet? I'm makin' plans...