A quiet neighborhood seemed empty, yet it was the fullest it could be. Even if ones weren’t out, they were enjoying peace and love with their friends and family. Even if the outside seemed empty it was very full. Animals like birds and squirrels skittered and flew with a cool breeze that surrounded, thriving in a promising nature-full environment. Peace fluttered place to place, filling everywhere with itself. Even if it was so full, so full, never yet to be completely full. A quiet neighborhood would always welcome more to be in such a wonderful place, such a wonderful place. Such a wonderful place ain’t need anything but wonderful creatures. Nothing ain’t not wonderful if it just cherishes life. Such a wonderful place needn’t be a quiet neighborhood. Such wonderful creatures needn’t be people and birds and squirrels. A loud neighborhood, maybe, but maybe a forest, a meadow, a city without harm. a desert, even, a humble rural, any place could fit the wonderful atmosphere of beautiful nature. A Moment of Peacefulness A gorilla, haha, a dog, a cat, a horse, or maybe even a snake— everything is beautiful in any possible way. Sometimes people just misread the eyes of some creature, but all are equal in a beautiful world, and some places, like a quiet neighborhood, some creatures, like a seemingly scary spider, can have just as much peace and love without fear and with courage, without needing to shrink back into the shadows, but with strength, kindness, bravery, darkness to light and a heart to a small world like so, in just a humble place, in just a wonderful place, with just wonderful creatures and everything that life could give which could be found in such an ordinary, fanciless place—but with peace and love.
December 2022
The Magic Desk
An ode to a desk It’s heavy, old, and has scribbles all over its body. But it is mine, and I love it. My desk has been with me for at least three years. It used to be my dad’s, but then my parents gave it to me. When I got my desk, it was pretty clean, but it didn’t stay that way. It has paint smudges on top and underneath. My little brother even drew on it. But the important part was the creative adventures I had with it. Unlike humans, my desk won’t get mad if I don’t do something correctly or if I mess it up (but my mom and dad might). It will keep silent so I can move on. Once I even tried to draw a mini mural of a mermaid and narwhal on it, but it’s not there anymore. I remember that around the color pencil case on my desk, there was a rectangular-ish outline of paint. When my dad saw it, he washed away the smudges on the desk. I was very sad when he did. If you look at the bottom of my desk, you will see lots of marks because I used to wipe the things on my hands (like dirty paint) under the table. But setting the messes aside, it has changed a lot. There used to be folders, but now there is a mess box my dad gave me for my stuff. There used to be a corkboard hanging next to my desk, now there isn’t. Yet some things haven’t changed so much. For example, my pencil cases haven’t really moved. They have, of course, been stored into boxes, but the boxes got plopped right back onto my desk. Head in the Clouds My desk itself has moved, though, from the living room to the moving truck to one of the smaller rooms in the new house, and finally to its resting place in my room. Although my desk appears to be a mess, what’s more important are the things I do there. Sometimes my desk is my art studio, with my paintbrushes and paints and papers. In fact, I did most of my paintings on my desk. Other times, I make jewelry on my desk. I make the necklaces and bracelets my friends and I wear now. Or, my desk is a crafting table, with my journals and notebooks and all the materials I make things with. As you see, my desk has been my companion for a while. Though in the beginning, I wanted to keep the mess as I was too lazy to clean it up, now I am the one to clean it up. I’ve realized that even if I do clean things sometimes now that I’m older and getting more like my dad, my creativity will never be washed away. Not by water, not by rain, not by coffee. Messes are my way to express myself. Besides, even if I do clean it, a few days later it’ll be messy again!
Head in the Clouds
Ink
