I’m a wee squirrel, Mr. Walter Jynkins.
I’m a wee squirrel, Mr. Walter Jynkins.
How many people have walked past this same fence? How many have ventured beyond it?
At work, to work, from work; always moving.
The leaves are still clinging on, even though they’re dead.
Too bad the grass isn’t real.
From the earth, the dead, and the decaying sprouts new life.
Three windows, nine muntins, three walls, eleven stairs.
Though it’s cold and the trees have shed their leaves, the blue sky still shines through.
For english, we did a quick write based off of Ross Gay’s compilation of lyrical essays: The Book of Delights. I chose to write about…
I used the clunky erase tool on my phone to make the background blurry and ethereal. The character is looking over out of curiosity, on…