No Edge

I cannot describe to you the reasons I love the following poem so much. There aren't enough words in any language, let alone English, to do the job. This poem gives me so much hope in my existence, yet reminds me so readily of responsibility weighing down on me... The feelings I have for this poem are as undefinable as the expanse of the universe.

The Red Wheelbarrow
by William Carlos Williams

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

Driving at Night with Neither Eye on the Road

As the sun fades under the horizon, the moon and the stars appear to take its place.  One by one, they break through the twilight and speckle the sky. These shimmering dots shine down on the countryside, serving some as a guide, serving others as a symbol of deity. Closer to the city, the stars fight for brilliancy as the muted film of the city lights reaches up and forces the stars back into the darkness. Yet one remains, constant and twinkling; solid, as if pasted, tacked, and pinned through to the end of the universe.

Memories and Matches

Memories of him burn a destructive burn. Any lingering thought, any slight remembrance of his laugh or glimpse of his smile turns into a wildfire. A single memory is all it takes. Uncontrollable, it roars through my skull and down my spine, leaving only rubble and ruin. My heart is left scorched and brittle, and blood no longer flows through my veins. I am left empty. All that remains are burnt-up, emotionless ashes and my old hollow bones. I am a façade, a skeleton. All of this because of a memory--one miniscule match in the middle of a forest.

**So, I'm not actually depressed or heart-broken or anything. I'm actually quite content with life. I just felt inspired by the wildfires happening all around. And breaking hearts always make for a good metaphor.

A Moment in the Minivan

So, I turned into my neighborhood today in my parents minivan, taking my time because… well… I was driving a mini-van, and stopped at the stop sign to the main road was a pretty blonde girl. She couldn’t have been older than 17 or 18 years old, but the expression on her face aged her considerably. Her cheeks were red with crying, her eyes puffy and filled with agony. Just the sight of her made me sad. I wanted to open my window and scream, “Don’t cry!!! It’s gonna be okay! Let me help you!!” Just as I was looking away to continue down the road to my house she stuck her head out of her open window around to one of the houses and screamed, “I LOVE YOU!” My window was up, the air conditioning blaring. I couldn’t hear anything except for “safety dance” playing on the radio. Despite the noise, her exclamation resonated throughout my body. I followed her line of sight and found her staring at a boy standing in a driveway. He looked like a miniature Ryan Lochte with his strong jawline, sandy brown hair, and tan skin. He was wearing plaid pajama pants and a dark blue t-shirt. And he was wearing pain. You could see it in the way his body leaned against his car for support, his sunken head and lowered eyes. He couldn’t meet her stare, and only acknowledged her cry with a bob of the head. As she pulled away, turning right out of the neighborhood and out of his life, he looked up, his shoulders sagged, and he turned to walk back into the house. In this five-second glimpse into these kid’s lives, my heart broke a thousand times. Every memory I had ever had of saying, “Goodbye, I LOVE YOU,” flashed across the 62” Plasma plastered in the center of my brain. I was reminded, in glorious high-definition, how much each goodbye really hurt, how much of me left with each tear, and how shriveled up and dead I felt once they were gone. I don’t know their story. I don’t know their names, or what was actually happening. But I did know. I knew them. In that moment of pain and ripping and torture and driving away from the person you love, I knew them. She was me, and he was every guy I have ever loved.

The Bucket

That's right, a list of things I would like to accomplish before I "kick the bucket."  This -> * <- means I've done it! Hooray!! I will modify and update this post as I (hopefully) accomplish some of these things.
*1. Learn how to ballroom dance [I won a Bachata competition up at BYU-I. It was exciting.]
2. Go Snorkling
3. Be an EFY counselor
*4. Hike up a mountain/Rock Climb [I HIKED UP MT. BALDY IN ALASKA! WOOHOO!]
5. Visit Every State (Alaska, Arizona, Colorado, Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kentucky, Maryland (District of Columbia), Nebraska, Nevada, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, Oregon, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, Tennessee, Utah, Virginia, Washington, West Virginia, Wyoming)
6. Milk a cow
7. Pet a snow leopard
8. Swim in an aquarium
9. Visit Ghana & Serve the people
10. Go to the Circus
*11. Play in an orchestra
*12. Sail on the Ocean [Again, ALASKA! YAY!]
*13. Make a blanket
14. Serve a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
*15. Write a children's story
16. Carve a watermelon
*17. Lord of the Rings Marathon
18. Star Wars Marathon
19. Harry Potter Marathon
20. Read all of Jane Austen's novels (I've got Pride and Prejudice down...)
21. See a Shakespeare play in the Globe Theater
*22. Paint a mural
23. Draw/paint a family portrait
24. Be in the Hill Cumorah Pageant (I've been 6 times)
25. Have a "giftless" Christmas
26. Go to a live General Conference session
27. Build a treehouse
28. Drive from coast to coast
*39. Visit Alaska [BOOYAH!!]
30. Direct a choir
31. Play "Misguided Ghosts" by Paramore on the guitar
32. Learn to play the violin and/or cello
33. Visit Ireland
34. Record a song in a professional studio
*35. Get straight A's (Huzzah!)
36. See Beethoven's 5th Symphony performed
37. Feed a Zoo Animal
38. Tour a movie set
39. Go to Art museums around the world (Like the Louvre or the Musee de Orsay)
40. Fly in a small plane
41. Go to a soccer game in south america
42. Get married in an LDS temple
43. Birth a child (That's right! I want to be a Mom!)
44. Read the complete works of Edgar Allen Poe
*45. Ride a camel
46. Graduate College (sooooo close!)
47. Read The Lord of the Rings trilogy (I finally started)
48. Go to Yellowstone
49. Make a crayon-melting painting
*50. Go to Las Vegas
51. Learn to do Archery like Robin Hood and Katniss Everdeen
52. Meet the Vlogbrothers
53. Design a home
54. Meet President Monson (I saw him in the airport once, but I haven't actually met him)
55. Have a picnic in a cemetery
**Updated 9/11/13**

Country Living

I'm going to revisit a place that has been a prominent part of my life: my Grandparents' hometown. Staying with my Grandparents always seems to change my perspective on  life. It isn't just because I'm staying with a couple of people who have lived long, successful, and wonderful lives. It's their house, the magical swing set, the haunted basement, and the old books. 

This small town. Adrian, Oregon: home to a whopping 140 people. You know, one of those towns you miss if you drive by too fast and blink. A town where everyone knows everyone else by the generation.

At my stay over Christmas break, I was fattened up by the mounds of treats delivered to their doorstep. Showered with handshakes at church. We even traveled around the outskirts of the "neighborhood" for 4 hours singing Christmas carols. And by neighborhood, I mean drove around the miles and miles of various farms and mini-mountains and valleys.

As we drove around this serene place just off the Snake River, calm overwhelmed me. The skies were clear and the land swayed in the wind.

These quaint farm houses sprout out of the fields all around the area. Even as the farmers work in the field, the days go by easily, and the quiet never seems to lift. 

The illustrious "A" announces the town and looks over the valley, somehow protecting its loyal residents.

However, beyond the quiet peace, Adrian is full of secrets and surprises. While taking a walk on windy winter day, I stumbled across this:

I was taken aback by the shock of seeing the remnants of a living creature and found myself pondering its past life, imagining what it had been and how it spent its days. I continued walking with a suddenly reflective state of mind. As I came up the other side of the street, chilled from the wind and eager to arrive at the warm house, I looked down and saw this:

A broken deer leg. The sight of it laid a filter of sadness over my thoughts as I mourned the loss not only of a life, but of a life unremembered. This deer was forgotten, left at the side of a country road. As I took a moment to remember the deer and began walking back up the street, I made it a point to remember this place--this small town that has come to mean so much to me--so it would never be forgotten.

Ink (or graphite, or chalk, or whatever) and Paper

It is amazing what power exists in ink and paper. Each are simple objects, neither of them particularly incredible; but when they are combined with a hand and creative mind, magic occurs. There are endless moments in which I find myself being changed by reading a book. When I read, I invest myself completely in what I am reading. I delve into the world the author has created and explore it like a child on a new playground. I flip through the pages and breathe deep in anticipation, climb through each sentence, grinding their ideas into my mind similar to grass stains on a child's knees. I walk up timidly to other children in the playground, at first feeling out of place, but with further observance come to know them. I begin to understand them, sympathize with their feelings, come to love them, and even hate them. This new world blends into my own, with me as the catalyst for the transformation. I see people differently. Real people. My friends, family, and strangers. My outlook on life is altered, my emotions are magnified, and epiphanies are always eminent. The things I read fuse to my soul and become one with who I am.