the independent shadow

     It's two weeks into the school year, and I still find myself acting as if it's summer. The weather is still good for nothing but sitting in the shade and reading. It's very pretty outside, but it is so hot and noisy that I find myself hiding under the little kids' play structure that we older students are supposedly not allowed to use, daydreaming and turning the pages of my favorite books.

    

     I find it hard to adjust to the fact that summer is just about over. With the sun shining through my window and "Sunburn" by Owl City playing in the background, it feels like summer will never end, or at least, it won't end for a long time.

I found this beautiful little box years and years ago, when I was younger. It has a picture of a girl on it, and used to be covered in crystals, although half of them have fallen off now. I used it as a place to store the "lucky" pennies I found. I came across it today, and it made me smile. I always did like collecting pretty things. Old or new, if there was a penny on the ground, I would pick it up. Not necessarily for luck, but just for the fun of it.

I will keep the little box on my dresser among my other treasures, so that I can look at it every day and remember what it was like to be seven or eight years old.

     Is summer really coming to an end?

     It seems like just yesterday that I looked back for the last time, or so I thought. I believed that I would spend these precious months dreaming, alone in the sunlight, not wasting a second, but making use of it all. I assumed that I would be moving on to somewhere else, never to return to the place I left.

    

     The summer has been wonderful, but short. So short.

     In only a few weeks, I will be facing the same building I have faced almost every day for six or seven years in a row. A building that brings back memories, good and bad, sweet and painful. Some of which I would give anything to forget, as if it never happened.

     But in returning,  I am beginning a new adventure. What is the point of a new chapter if nothing happens in it? Returning is not repeating. It is only continuing what has just begun. I write a story as I go on, and this year will be a part of it.

     As we all return at the end of the bright, simple summer days, there is a wave of nostalgia, of remembering things that you have almost forgotten. But there is a new adventure, a promise of new memories up ahead, a light that you only have to look for.

     Under the cold, bright moonlight, the wolves ran on, their paws barely touching the frozen earth as they skimmed across it. They sang of their past history, their present, and the far-off future they hoped for.

     They did not hesitate. There was no stopping for breath, no waiting for others to catch up. They kept the pace. They ran. They had left, and there was no turning back. The wolf pack ran on. They ran, they sang. They ran towards the light of the future, a light that was their dream and their life. They filled the night with their songs, rising, falling notes. Their bright amber eyes were fixed on the light ahead. They ran, strong and determined, to whatever would happen next.

The world wasn't meant to be like this.

It used to be so beautiful. There was less hatred, more love. But people have become insecure, and no longer have the courage to love.

Our ability to choose was not given so that the world could turn into this. Sometimes, when I lie in bed at night, I think,  "What have we done?"

There is more to life than this. This mess that has been created can only last so long. The world is blind already, but if only people could find their lost bravery, it might learn to see again.

     After days of rain and cloudy skies, the weather is nice again. I went to the park and walked barefoot through the grass, the sun shining bright. I took hold of the chains of the swing and flew gently, like the hummingbird I saw in the garden. The light breeze flowing through my hair, the lace of my dress dancing in the wind, I took flight for a moment or two. Just a second, mind you. Summer days are the highlight of my years. The days where you can slow down and fly from a swing in the park, the sky stretching on above you.

"The stars lean down to kiss you

And I lie awake and miss you

Pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere

'Cause I'll doze off safe and soundly

But I'll miss your arms around me

I'd send a postcard to you, dear

'Cause I wish you were here"

Here we go again.

     For four or five hours, I will sit here, waiting. Waiting for the scent of the water to be carried in the air. Waiting for us to finally stop, once and for all, in front of the little cottage that I see only in memories of last year. Waiting to arrive at my favorite place in the world. Me, with an MP3 player filled with new songs I already know every word to, as well as old ones that have been forgotten. Me, with a small, old laptop, a journal of doodles, emotions, and song lyrics, and some books. Me, with a childish love for the place we will end up in. It is my summer place: a town of too much sunshine, sparkling water, and freedom. It is the only place where I can feel that I am truly free. I can do what I want. I can go down the rocks, braving poison ivy and nightshade and loose stones, and stand barefoot on the beach, the rise and fall of the lake just reaching my tired, delighted self. I am safe there. It doesn't matter where I go, what I do, what time it is. I feel that I am somehow save and free at the same time. I am open to the heart of summer. I am who I am. That is all I need to know. My home away from home awaits me. I come. I come for it, with music in my ears and words in my eyes, and with a powerful longing in my spirit. I come.

     We went to the lake, so I took a yard of the water and stitched it into a skirt. It is blue as the skies, and covered in lacy seaweed. The hem is made of seafoam. I like to walk along the edge of the water, skipping rocks and looking for shells. I am a water spirit at heart, and I love to spend time by the waves, in my lakeside skirt.