A Diary Entry
Saturday – I am so excited, my Dad says The Man is coming tomorrow. I remember the first time I saw Him – sitting on the hill, surrounded by so many people. I tried to get close to hear what He was saying. Men tried to keep me away but He stopped them. “Let the little child come to Me” He said. I sat on His lap and gazed into His deep, kind, brown eyes as He told me that He loved me and that He would always be with me. I do not know how that is possible but I believed Him. I cannot wait until I see Him again tomorrow.
A Short Story
The old house had stood since 1896 when Mrs Appleby’s father had finished building it. In those days it was beautiful – a single storey dwelling built of wood and painted white. The sun used to bounce off the boards. A wraparound porch contained several rocking chairs where Ma and Pa sat at the end of the day reading their Bibles and thanking the Lord for His many blessings, as they watched the sun disappear beyond the horizon.
As Summer turned to Autumn Ma spread quilts over both their knees to keep the chill out. Quilts that had been made with love and prayer. Every stitch contained thanks for her husband and little girl Bessie.
A Short Story
The room was bathed in glorious sunlight. Dust particles bounced through the air, twinkling like fairy dust as the sun hit them. I glanced around the room. My room. In the corner was my comfy old chair. The royal blue had faded. The seat had an imprint, just the same size as me. My patchwork cushion that I made in the third year lay squished at the side of the chair. I ran my hand across the arm – smooth, warm velveteen. How many times had I done that? I was going to miss that old chair.
My eyes strayed towards the cushion. I picked it up and hugged it close. It felt familiar. Should I take it? No it would only remind me of here. Of the place where I belonged. I reluctantly placed it back in the corner of the chair.
I continued my journey around the room. My eyes took in the window. The brilliant white nets blinding my eyes in the sunlight. Outside lay the green grass of my childhood garden. It looked so lush. The rain in the night had refreshed it.
A Short Story
I sat on the edge of the bench. The wood smooth under my fingers. I stared out at the lake – a perfect azure blue. The sun sparkled on the water. Two white swans glided by majestically.
I glanced to my left – a squirrel and its mate skittered up a tree. The trunk gnarled with age. How many summers had passed since it was planted? Two hundred? Three hundred?
A young couple walked past hand in hand. She flung her head back, laughing at something he said.