A large yard surrounds a simple house in a quiet neighborhood. Years ago when I was still a carefree child this yard was my playground. The grass was always green and soft in the summer and the garden full of fresh vegetables to be picked when Grandma wasn't looking. There was a huge, old tree whose outstretched branch held my precious swing. I loved that swing. In the fall I'd jump off it into piles of leaves. In the summer I'd set the water sprinkler up behind it and swing through the spray of water. In the spring I'd spin around on it and wait for my mom to come pick me up after she got off work. And in the winter I'd miss it dearly and beg Grandpa to hang back up at the first sign of warm weather. The neighbors tree was my quiet place because there was a low branch that allowed me to climb up to perch myself between the branches. A row of colorful flowers lined the back of the yard, there scent drawing me to them on warm afternoons. Now days that yard is still there, but it's very different. The beloved swing is long gone, chains rusted and the seat cracked. The tree from which it hang began to rot, so it has since been cut down. The neighbors tree needed trimming, and my low branch was cut off. The large garden dwindled by rows and vegetables, and now is a single row of tomato plants. But the grass is still green and the flowers still smell sweet, and the grandparents that live there still welcome their little granddaughter during any season.

Easter egg hunt
in the green grass
laughter

shower of petals
on a windy day
Redbud tree

juicy tomato
drips down my chin
warm sun

As I sit, I can hear birds singing all around. The animals scurry through the leaves of fall as I sit and watch the different colors float down from above through the breeze. Frogs jump into a nearby stream as my dog runs past. The sun begins to set and shadows are cast down upon me. The beauty and the pureness of nature surround me.

encircled by trees
slow moving stream
safe haven speaks to me

I would go to her house every day after school. We would sit down at the kitchen table and talk for hours while munching on cookies and rocky road ice cream. This routine went on for years. Then one day she was found wandering the streets with no clue as to who she was or where she lived. Shortly thereafter, she was placed in a nursing home. Now she is only a memory to me.

thoughts of a visit
on my mind each day
too late . . . she's gone

Sitting comfortably on the front porch every morning is something very simple, yet extremely refreshing at the same time. Just as the front door opens, the cool morning air hits you in the face to assist you in waking up. The cool air and warm sun shining on you provide a perfect contrast while you sit down and begin to enjoy your fresh-brewed Folgers coffee from the same old mug. Maybe the most enjoyable and calming part of your morning is the vacancy of almost all human beings. From the porch, all you can see and hear are the various beautiful birds blissfully playing and chirping with each other. This is your time to just sit down and enjoy life before you head off to work and face the reality of a stressful day at work.

empty coffee mug
he is prepared
for the real world

Her soft hair gently falls down into her eyes. This happens often but she always takes her precious hand and brushes it back in the most elegant and picturesque way one has ever seen. She has this way of walking across a room that is actually more like a glide. It is as if she is gliding, gently floating across a cloud. As if that is not enough, she has the most amazing blue eyes. Picture the first time you ever saw the ocean, crystal blue in all of its wonder. Multiply that by ten and you would still not even be close to capturing the beauty and mystery that comes from her eyes. They have a way of pulling you in and never letting you go. Wow, and then there is her touch. She has a way of holding a man that makes him feel as if he is the only person left in the world. When a man is in her arms all of his fears are swept away and remind him that he is hers.

small precious box
slowly opened
—down on one knee

A place away from home.  The rough waters toss the children about the boat.  The hot sun beats down, reflecting off the water into our eyes.  A brisk wind rips through the boat almost taking the lifejackets along with it.  The path of a skier acts as a route for an adventurous boat ride.  A circle is left on the dash by a cold beer just opened.  The boat stops for everyone to re-fuel.  Juicy hamburgers cooked to perfection with seasoned fries on the side.  Back on the boat for a sunny afternoon. 

three bedroom condo
children on the floor
good family fun

My best friend, I’ve basically known her since I moved in.  She was there to greet me from the beginning. We’ve played sports together, cried together, and even came to the same college together. We’ve always been pretty competitive, but will always complement the other nicely. One thing thought that we do really well is shop together.  We encourage each other to buy things we really don’t need but just got to have. With all the things we shop for, she will always end up buying a pair of shoes. But I love her she is my best friend.  She’s funny, confident, intelligent, religious, and she will always be there when I need her. 

young friends
       growing together
even through our shoes

It is a humid afternoon in mid July. The car exits the interstate and pulls into a small town in the heart of Tennessee. With the windows rolled down, the cool mountain air fills my lungs. The hustle and bustle of people suddenly surrounds the car, and traffic starts to move slower and slower the deeper we travel into town.  Shop after shop passes selling t-shirts, jewelry, and homemade candy. The tourists are amazed at what a special secret this little town holds. The traffic starts to move faster, and the place that holds so many memories awaits this anticipating bunch. The caravan turns onto a dusty gravel road, which leads all the way up the mountain. After what seems like hours of turnabouts, the cabin finally stands before us. This ten-bedroom mansion is a playground for the next week. Staring at this wonderful place, the sights and sounds of vacation become reality again. The eight a.m. wail of the newborn baby, the combination of chocolate, marshmallow, and the blazing fire, and, the laughter of all the grandchildren as grandpa chases them around the cabin. Tennessee is a home away from home.  

moonlight night
roasting marshmallows
over the charcoal fire

A green oasis in the dry climate of Arizona.  The focus in the small town is on water.  Like all desert creatures, water is celebrated here.  Buried in a valley among mountains its center holds the worlds highest spraying working fountain.  Down the center of the main street, lining up perfectly with the town’s center point fountain are five smaller artistic fountains.  Everywhere there is the sound of water.  Palm trees, green grasses, and pools could make one forget the saguaro cacti and extreme dry heat.  Some of the houses are brightly painted to stand out in Native American patterns and others are made to blend in with the southwestern environment. 

dry breeze
plays the water
liquid instrument

I came from a southeastern city of China.  The weather there is mild in the winter and hot in the summer*much like the temperature in Florida.  The coldest winter I remember, only had temperatures in the lower 40's.  Being used to the warm weather, snow and icy winter always amazed me.  It wasn't until when I immigrated to the United States that I saw real snow.  I got off the airplane after a 14 hour flight and still trying to adjust to the time change across the continents.  I thought I was dreaming when I saw a parking lot covered with thick snow.  From far away it looked like the entire area was covered with a white blanket, from cars to the ground . . . everything was covered with snow.  It was so amazing that I froze by exit for a moment.  It took me a while to absorb the fact that there is real snow on the ground.   

away in a foreign land
the snow fairy
welcomes me

In the fall, my family picks apples from our own tress. Yellow delicious apples, plump and solid, mixed with tart Jonathons for steamy skillets of sweet fried apples. The air is cool during apple harvest, crisp. The sky is clear. And leaves flutter onto the splashes of yellow and violet mums outside our window. 

fall harvest
the perfect apple
hides a worm

blue hooded sweatshirt
a small boy squeals
under the apple tree

Butterfly Weed is one of the few orange flowers on the prairie. It's my favorite flower too, and the hourglass flowers in large clusters are the color of ripe tangerines. Pioneers used its roots to treat pleurisy, and butterflies flit from cluster to cluster for nectar. 

one leg caught
the black ant
far from home

I hate piano recitals. No, that's not right. I love recitals, unless I am playing in them.  Before the fateful day, my hands are clammy, stiff.  My pulse rises. My stomach flutters. Recitals are required rites of passage, but it is often hard to remember a song from memory in front of hundreds of waiting eyes. You have to keep composure, or it's all over. 

a forced smile
pretending wrong chords
were planned

the recital
coughing
to cloud mistakes

Ryan Jones

You cannot describe the man without describing the setting.  Somewhere deep in the hills, off an ordinary dusty road, lives a man.  He has raised two sons to men, and put the third in the ground.  He has lived his life from town to town as only migrant workers can.  Every day he goes into the fields and he strings barbwire around his land.  His hands are so thick and calloused that not even the barbs can cut through.  Every night he surrounds himself with his family to play a round of cards and hunt down the flies that sneak in through the screen door.  And no matter how many years he has left, he will live and die in those mountains.

family card night
granny deals another
slice of pineapple turnover

Erin Osmus

There is a quiet dull over the room. The young man enters the room with a spring in his step, and excitement in his eye. All he wants to do is share his energy with those who have lost it. The others curiously wait to see what they are doing that day. Each day is something different than the day before, but always the same people. However, this young man adds that extra element of energy to the group. The dull activities that seem to be time-consuming are transformed into an experience for a new day.   

contagious energy
on the spring day
nursing home 

In the mountians of North Carolina there's a little place called Lake Junaluska. This small mountain lake provides a serene yet eventful vaction spot for many all year round. Most come to relax. Others come for the activities it offers: shows, paddles boats, fireworks, sand volleyball and more. A wide variety of rose bushes line the entire lake. The food lacks in flavor, but the ice cream shop helps a little.

family reunion
I rock in a chair
beside my 4th cousin

From the outside, one would never guess what lies within. At a glance it is a small, one-story house nestled in between other houses on a gaping cul-de-sac. Getting closer reveals a hodge podge of children’s skates and knee pads tossed carelessly on the stained and cracking cement near the front door. The grass grows a little higher than one is accustomed to, and the remnants of plastic Easter eggs are still snarled in the trees on tangled strings. Inside the house little balls of dog hair blow across the hardwood floor like tumbleweeds in a desert, and a firm coat of dust rests on nearly every surface. The couches are festooned with slightly dingy throws and the stairs creak when you walk on them. A picture in the hallway is consistently just a little bit crooked, and nine times out of ten you can find a mostly-emptied ash tray tucked inconspicuously under the bathroom sink. It is an imperfect house, complete with dents and dings that make it flawed, yes, but also make it comfortable. It is a house as real as its residents, who have been known to scream at each other on weekends and holidays but also to support each other when the going gets tough. Just as it is not just a house, but also a home, its residents are not just people, but also a family, and the place in which they live speaks of their ordinary everyday beauty.

creaky porch swing
traces of Halloween spider webs
still caught in its chains

weed-filled garden
a rusted bike
as decoration

Face pressed against the glass starring at a face similar to her own, she began to cry, “but she was supposed to be a boy!” Stomping her foot, she refused to spend anymore time starring at a baby girl that was not welcome in her home, as far as she was concerned. The house was filled with family members and friends as her mother returned home from the hospital, baby and all. With tears in her eyes, this young girl spends her time watching the celebration from a far, still upset with her mother and unforgiving of her new baby sister. After the visitors leave her mother asks her to please help with the baby. With an unhappy look on her face she stomps into the baby's new room. As she sits down her mother places the baby in her arms, immediately she falls in love with her enemy. One smile was all it took to warm her heart up to this bundle of joy and love of her life.

the baby
embraced in her arms
smiles
for the first time

As much as I complain about my boring town, and my boring house, and my family, I have to admit all are irreplaceable. There is something about the feeling that comes over me when I turn down my street and see my house that I have called home for eighteen years. Sometimes it's regret, other times fear, yet always underlying whatever is going through my head at the time is a sense of relief and peace. There is comfort in the familiar and my home is my refuge. It is here that I know I can be myself and escape this world's harsh reality. Like the back of my hand, I know every squeak in the floor, every chip in the chair rail and the dog in the window sill knows me better than I know myself. Home is more than a place, it's a feeling that takes a long time to create, and even longer to destroy.

bare feet
     on the cool
          hard wood floor

dad feeds the dog

Around my home town, the beginning of spring brings great anticipation. There is prom, impending graduation, the planting of crops, but none of these contain the anticipation I'm talking about. Mushroom season. It's a time when old friends become enemies, when laws are bent or broken all for the delicious taste of fungus. Mushrooms, or morels to be more exact, look like black, white, gray, or yellow sponges sitting on a beige stalk. And fried up in hot butter, they become golden and crunchy. Just plain delicious. That's why, during the last weeks in March and through April, if you drive on a country road near my hometown and see a parked car, chances are the car wasn't abandoned. Its owner is down the nearest rill or on the far hill searching for the delicious flowers of a fungus decomposing matter on the forest floor.

by the oak tree
mom's first mushroom
all to herself

four morels
beside the stump
happy family

Cool dew, gathered on the soft ground, tickles the feet.  A gathering of small birds circles above, as if they are about to swoop in for a late night meal.  The cool breeze dances across the desolate plain reminding the campers that they will need their sleeping bags.  Families begin to gather around their respective camp fires.  Within a few min. age old family traditions will be passed down, via story or song, to the younger generation of campers.  The sun is takes one last breath before it goes to sleep in its bed of trees for the night.  Large sheets of smoke slowly begin to rise as if to overtake the air in an epic battle or good vs. evil.  In the end the smoke wins and pushes away any trace of the day's fresh air and replaces it with the precious reminder of camping. 

mid-day sun
beams down on us
—sand volleyball

Looking for escape, she runs eagerly against the pounding raindrops and vicious wind. Clothes plastered to her small frame, she gradually moves deeper into the vast blackness of the night sky. Although the grass is slippery and wet beneath her feet, she glides gracefully over the open field and finds freedom in her solitude. Suddenly catching her toe on the corner of an invisible stone, she flies forward and finds herself disoriented and lying in a mudpuddle. Tears suddenly explode down her face as though running a race of their own. Glancing down at her white fingers caked in brown earth, her tears subside and she quietly begins to smile. Her smile turns into a giggle...into gentle laughter...into shrieks of delight. She found her freedom beneath the night sky...crying salty tears that mingled with the raindrops and flowed back to the earth...the brown earth that now covered her body.

winding river
even the rapids
lead to calm waters

Up North

Grandpa cooks the eggs, hash, and bacon. Grandma sets the table, pours us juice, and makes the toast. It's a cool spring morning with the lonely lake sparkling across the yard. We eat early so we can hit the lake and go fishing while the big fish are biting. Sun rises over the lake and dew covers the grass. We fish under a willow tree, waiting impatiently for a bite. Grandpa says if we catch enough fish, he’ll fry em’ tonight for dinner.

sizzling bacon wakes us
quiet morning on the screen porch
fog blankets the lake

No one is normal, even though we all try to pretend that we are, and we all have things about our past or selves that we hide from others, some better than others. I often find myself battling with this weakness, the inability to allow people into my life. Some may call this a trust issue, and I suppose it is, however I often feel as though I cannot show my true colors to many people. I put on a good front, I am aware of this, and at times when I do wish to show my colors I do not know how because I have done such a good job at hiding them from others. However, I do feel that everyone has their own little "rain cloud" that many don't see, they only see what you are willing to show them, and who wants a rain cloud, everyone wants the rainbow.

hiding from you 
my gray cloud 
with a rainbow

once again
I tell you  
that you didn't hurt me

My mom is the busiest person I know. She works two jobs, has three kids, a husband, and pets galore to take care of. She wakes up early and gets my younger sister off to school. Then she hurriedly packs herself a lunch and flees to work where she spends her day in a busy dentist's office. She returns to make dinner and clean the house, all the while never asking for much help, or complaining. On alternating days, her life is similar yet the office changes to that of a busy marketing firm. She manages to do so much yet still keep a smile and has never once failed as a mother or wife. She still manages to make homemade cookies, and does without a maid. She is who I strive to be.

hectic day  
daughter on her lap 
she finds peace