It's still the middle of winter, but I keep thinking it's spring. I remember one time last winter that it snowed and we had a snow day, but it was so warm and sunny that by the end of the day, I had gone to take a walk in the woods, and most of the snow had melted. I had been looking at really gorgeous, colorful art right before I went out, and the entire rmemory is colored with brightness and happiness. I feel like that today!

I actually cleaned my room yesterday! Can you believe it? I also cleaned off my desk today. My dad keeps clutching at his heart, and saying, "It's the big one! I'm comin' to see ya, Elizabeth!" He's so sarcastic.

It's a lovely feeling to have some big task done like this. This is probably what I'll feel like when I turn in my junior project! I should've brought home my weekend homework Thursday evening. We had a snow day. I was supposed to begin behind-the-wheel today, but guess what, it didn't happen. I went to Walmart with my mom and my brother instead. Saw an old woman with purple hair. You never know what you'll find at Walmart!

I wrote these after doing a practice A.P. English test.

I wrote a hundred poems
About my dreams of love,
About the field I love to walk
And stars spread out above,
I wrote a thousand poems
'Bout the sweetness of a song,
About the creek that speaks and sings
And gently strolls along,
I wrote the verses, all cliché,
About a friendship dea,
About the breeze that laughed and played
And whispered in my ear.
But I forgot the tiny things
That nextle in my thought,
The things I did not write about
Were things we all forgot.
We wrote about the giant things
A million times or more,
Be we forgot the housefly
That stumbled in the door.



Ground Ivy
(Another name for Morning Glory)
If all the world a garden were,
Of poppies in the light,
I would be the ground-ivy
That closes in the night.
By morn, I stretch my tiny arms
And yawn to greet the day,
Sociable in sunlight,
And simple in my way;
But when the night is closing in
And Sun goes down to sleep,
I close my petals 'round my face
And my own council keep.
For thought is born upon the wing
Of dream too sweet to tell,
And wisdom rises like the breeze
That rings the small bluebell.
I ope' my petals once again
When night's sweet thought is done,
But do you know what grows inside
When softly sleeps the sun?