Entry Number Two, Week Nine: Nature Walk Prose Poem.

The sky is the beginning pallet of the artist’s work- pale pinks, light violet, dark oranges, and pastel yellows. The garden is the beginning pallet of the homeowner’s graveyard. The strawberries, once a luscious red topped with green paradise are a dark, ugly taunting brown; the skeletons of a fulfilling fruit. The hostas, once plentiful with boisterous, busty, light-and-dark green leaves are fragile wisps that threaten to blow away with the wind. Bones of flowers, long forgotten, lie in the neglected flower bed. The lone tree, guardian of the yard has a skinny, lightly tanned trunk. Not a robust trunk like the ones at the park. Not a trunk for protecting the others. The bushes in the back hide the destruction, hide the jungle, and hide the horror. A graveyard for plants. A graveyard for resurrection? My future home.

-Abigail Lawrence J