Fabulous Flower-children Fairies (Whoa alliteration. didnt mean for that to happen, but hey! Thats cool :D)

 So for my amazing friend Micaelas birthday (Also known as Jasmine or Jaz), we went to her park and had a little photo shoot with these magical little fake flower crowns she made, and we all look like beautiful fairies. Photo cred goes to Susannah and Isaiah. Don't we look amazing? ;)

 

Shy forest fairies :o

 

 Oh, you know...just hanging in a tree, like us fairies always do.

 DERP

 dawwww you

 Ya know, if this were at sunset it would be so pretty <3

 Peeka boo!

 Don'tcha just love us?

 Cool girl walk

 I almost fell out of the tree...yeahhh...but it made a good picture!

I think this picture is my favorite of me...I love my hair ^_^

 

 

 

I love all of you very much and I hope you had a fabulous birthday, Jaz.

KISSES MWAH

 

 

      

I miss the country

 I'm sick of the city. 

I miss dancing in the rain and playing hide-and-seek outside in the dark nearly every night.

I miss mud all over my boots and jeans, dirt under my nails, leaves in my messy bun, and my cheeks flushed red from the cold. I miss running around in the woods, riding bikes, and climbing trees till my muscles ache. I miss roasting apples and marshmallows over a big bonfire and watching the orange sparks float up against the dark blue sky like fireflies. I miss being actually able to see the stars instead of them hiding behind buildings or being too dim because of the city lights. I miss being able to run and shout and dance without neighbors being able to see or hear.

I miss home

An Old Church

I may not be good at writing story lines and stuff, but I like descriptive writing. For my writing class, when we were doing  setting and tone, we had to write a paragraph and create a tone for a setting of our choice For example, a forest, depending on how you write it, could be scary, creepy, happy and sunny, old and nostalgic, or peaceful and calming. I chose an old abandoned church, so....here it is :) The tone I was going for was peaceful nostalgia, full of memories.

  At the end of  a little dirt path lies an old church. One can tell by the faded grey roof  and peeling white sides, it has been here countless years. The large door opens to reveal the still, humble sanctuary within. A faint, sweet smell emanates from the vase of dried, long forgotten flowers by the door.  At the wall by the entrance many little, shining brass hooks are positioned; some up high for large coats and flowing capes, while others are lower, meant for petite over coats and little scarves belonging to small children. The dusty floorboards let out the occasional soft creak. Many pews are arranged in rows on either side of the room.Each one is slightly chipped and worn to a smooth polish by so many hands, but the back ones most of all, for that is where the fidgeting children sat. Dust particles dance and float in the sunbeams streaming through the windows, giving the whole place a heavy, musty feel. Curious vines of ivy , once cut back by the hands of a  diligent care-taker, now peep through the white windows, threatening to creep inside and crawl their way into the still church. At the very back wall hangs a polished oak cross, draped with a faded purple cloth. Directly below lies the podium, where the pastors voice used to boom out passionately on some occasions , yet spoke softly and earnestly at others. The alter, where so many "Amens" and "I do's" were said. On a shelf beside the alter are many old, well-loved Bibles that smell heavily of musty leather, cracked and carresed by so many gentle hands, appraised by so many attentive eyes, eager to learn what the Lord had to teach. Such a still place, such a peacefull place. This surely is a place of memories.