Some books just grab your eye. From the first word to the last, you invest your mind, heart, and soul. The story instantly becomes melded to your memory. The images in words and images have power to fill life's holes.
Thinking of memories like they were yesterday.When talking to family, you don't have to think of what to say. Looking at old photos, thinking of what has past, The camping trip that rained all week--that was a last. The terrible thing about moments is that all moments conclude. But, even though it ended, we're in a good happy mood. by Maddie Schroll, age 10
*** I'm only a slightly excited and proud when the news of a new poem hits the family room and I'm not the author. Maddie has always had an incredible imagination, however always trapped in her own fantasy world. Poetry was so structured that I never imaged that the a rhythm and rhyme from her would feel so natural. God's going to use her words one day, and I'll have a giant smile on my face the moment he does. ~ Alyson Schroll
I go to work twice every day. At seven forty-five in the morning to drop my three year old brother, J, off for school and at three thirty for me to work.
To be efficient in the morning--because with three different school drop offs, who can afford to not be efficient--my mom takes J to his class, and I take his stuff to his cubby in the hall.
Today was normal expect the clean pair of underwear I had to carry to add to his nonexistent extra supply. Also, his lunch was in a clear ziploc bag because we ran out of brown paper bags, and his backpack was already in his cubby because it had been forgotten the previous day. Yes, such anomalies were still normal.
But this morning, I grabbed my keys.
I never grab my magnetic classroom key as there is no use for it. I only had to go to his cubby which was just standing in the hallway. The reason I felt the need to pick up keys is a mystery. All I know is that they accompanied me and the underwear down the hall.
Do I owe them?
They who fill my mind with elegance and lies.
They who tug at my attention without mercy.
They who keep me up at night and fill my head with dreams.
They who drag me into other existences and gift me with the experience of many lives.
They who can change the world or, yet, burn it to the ground.
Do I owe them?
Like those who have taught me proper trades.
Like those who have sheltered me from hurt or showed me how to stand strong.
Like those who have devoted their lives training me to resist the logic of the world.
Like those who have guided me through bullies and false companions.
Like those who have told me when it was time to pay or walk away.
Maybe if I ignore the time-taxing words, I will be free to please others.
Maybe if I comply with their demands, they will abandon my future work.
Maybe if I consider these stories as my responsibility, my dept will desinigrate.