Prewrites

Prewrite #1- I remember the tree, A place of peace and calm A place to relax and think I remember the soft hum of the bugs The wind on my face I remember climbing up its rough branches, Looking down on everything below The smell that forebodes rain The taste of freedom, lingering on the tongue Quietness in the tree has a lot to do with peace, and peace has a lot to do with nature The tree is a haven, a fortress, a refuge I sit in the tree to think, to relive my past I live from these moments, I hear the chirping of the birds, The swishing of the wind The booming of the thunder Announcing the coming storm Still, I sit and think I recall my past And I plan my future The stillness restores my energy It gives me strength As the storm rolls in I must leave Until the next time I need to reflect

Prewrite 2 The history of the tree goes like this.... Years ago my grandfather bought the property And there stood the Tree Tall, a centerpiece of the yard The children of the house would climb on it A fortress of fun and imagination Now, years later my generation ascends the tree, It is our turn to have fun in the yard We walk where our parents played as children As each generation passes it takes its turn in this yard Technology is cast aside as we become the same as those years before us The yard is a retreat, hidden from the problems of the world The children plead "Play with us" The older generation and the one before that say "all right" And before I know it all of us are again contacting out inner child Becoming who we once were Reliving memories of the past It is one thing all can relate to and remember It has seen all of us learning about the world As it grows, we grow, it is the ever present The Tree is a symbol The tree is a haven, a fortress, a refuge.

Prewrite 3 Tranquility The silence is deafening Pondering, I sit—this is a place to think and to remember Is it the peace, or the acceptance that brings people here? Like so many ants to an apple Perhaps it is the silent friendliness of Nature Or is it the mystique? The Yard is a retreat, hidden from the problems of the world A place to run from stress I never worry—now that is a lie It’s a patient place, listening to you and never interrupting A place that does not judge A friend that is always on your side The one who will never betray you This place is the all-seeing, the understanding The empathetic And yet it cannot feel, see, touch It does not think But sometimes that that cannot show emotion reveals the most In the Yard by myself, Thought is the heart of it all.

Prewrite 4 Beauty. It comes from the peace. Everything looks so still and quiet—This is not the reality. Animals everywhere, busy, but in no hurry. There is a squirrel on the fence to my left. He is jet black, eyeing me to determine if I am a threat. I stare back, he turns and climbs the nearest tree. I hear a noise and look down. The soft hum of a hummingbird. He flits to and from, eventually hovering over the food, placed there for him. He drinks for but a moment, before he is off. From all directions comes the happy chirping of the birds. There are red ones, blue ones, yellow ones and black ones. They all get along racing each other through the sky and surveying the land happily. They swarm to the bird feeders, placed on another tree to my left. They all are so carefree and content.

There are crabapple trees to my right, four in a perfect line. Ivy grows on the walls behind and next to them. A lemon bush grows across a small clearing of grass from them. It brings back from the time I picked lemons to make lemonade, but when I squeezed out the juice, the cuts from getting the lemons off the bush stung. The small potted plants next to it bring back memories of the time we played ping pong and lost countless balls in them, especially the cactus. As I look further left there is the hanging plants that my grandfather takes so much pride in, he would wake up at obscene hours in the morning to water and fertilize them. As I look all the way to the left there is a jungle of bushes and trees creating a tunnel all the way up to the tree I am sitting in. Behind me over the fence is the creek; the one my mother fell into as a child and chipped her tooth. Silence again. As I refocus, I realize that the silence is never really silence, just one becomes so used to the sounds of an area, they forget they are there.

The blades of grass shift in the wind. The jingle of wind chimes is audible. The sun has gone behind a cloud, it is not a storm cloud and everything is still bright, even in the shadow. It is a peaceful calm. Very opposite than what the coming storm may bring. Quiet and peace before a loud and wild storm.

The world is one of opposites and contradictions, the lemons hurting what you got by obtaining them, the silence being noise, the calm before the storm. I sit, observing both plants and animals, as some of them watch me back. Some are afraid, others as curious as I am. Are they thinking like I am? Do they enjoy this area the same way I do? I look up as small rain drops start to fall. They create a soothing noise and scent. I retreat under the overhanging roof of the house, enjoying the rain as much as I did the sunlight.