Rushing, gushing, limping, trickling, dipping up and down, the little brook runs. All through winter, all through summer, through autumn and spring. It always burbles and chuckles, running along its merry way.

Its cool, clear, bright, crisp moisture relief to the weary travler; amusement to the young child; mirth to the day dreamer.

Ah yes, that lovely little brook, chuckling and singing down its merry way.

 
Chapter 28
 
            The horse-drawn wagon rumbled on across the broad countryside, the amiable Gill Cowan perched on a precarious looking seat. Andrija sat beside him, closing her eyes as she slowly inhaled the fresh fragrance of meadow grass. Bird song filled the air with a cheerful melody and dew shone on every blade of grass in the jade-green fields.
            Andrija’s eyes sparkled as she looked ahead.  “Look there! Is that Lake Hayle?”
            Gill squinted at the pale blue ribbon far ahead. “'Do believe it is.”

Dear Homeschooling Friends,

The word "innocence" and the phrase "respect for innocence" have been in my thoughts during the last two weeks. In fact, they have been with me ever since I wrote innocence in as one of the inspirations for apricotpie on the about page. At first my thoughts turned toward what innocence does not mean to me. But later I began to hear it in a different way. This is how it is coming to me now:

***This is a substitue for a book report I had to write earlier this year. It's a bit of a brief story, a bit of a summary of characters, a bit of everything. I do hope it's a bit good, but I leave that for you to decide.***

I am Marianne, the hopeless romantic.

I am Elinor, preferring to keep things inside.

I am Jane, defensive of others.

I am Lizzy, usually laughing at something or someone.

I am Emma, nosy.

I am Catherine, the over-imaginative bookworm.

I am Fanny, quiet and unassertive.


I'm Jane Austen, reader, observer, writer.

On the crest of the hill

~*~Hey everyone, sorry this is so short--thought I'd give you a bit to enjoy since I'm busy right now. Hope you like it. I'm super excited--this is my last post as an unmarried author!!! :0)~*~

Amidst the tanned, living fields
The ghostly shades are drifting.
Magic canning jars full
Of crickets riding their bicycles.
Perfumes in a green case
And porcelain faces to break,
Mom seldom wears perfumes.
This house has many basements
Locked away in silence.
What ghosts proceed from the barn?
Those that follow my friends –
But my friends will overcome them
One day – Thank God.
Joker is dead, but
No dog heaven will hold her.
Her blue eyes are so full of the
Illusory love those shades