anna catherine

I like waking up early, To birds, And breezes, And just the smell of the earth. I like the dew, How it sparkles on a spider's web  In the grass. But most of all, I like the sunrise. When it comes, The whole world is painted blackandwhite Then the sun wakes,  And it gets brighter And brighter, And then the sun, The artist, Uses his sunbeam brushes To paint everything Golden. He paints a tree, The grass, The sky . And for one moment, Just one moment, The world is a golden palace Just for me. And sometimes, I wish that the world were always Golden. ~The Artist, by me Kitty has to go, Grace Anna Rose

   There are many ways to fly.    Some say the only way is by plane, or helicopter, or hanglider.    Some only fly in their dreams.    But me, I think as long as there is imagination, anything is flying.    Flying is when you put on on a pair of skates.   When you get on the floor, wobbling like a baby bird, you turn into an owl whose mother has finally pushed out of the nest.   You flap about, trying to keep balance, and then suddenly, it clicks.   You then zoom away into the stars.    Flying is riding a bike.   You puff and struggle going up the hill, but when it's time to go down, you whoosh and zoom, like a dragon flying across the edge of the ocean with one forepaw trailing along in the water.    Flying is dancing.   Your stomach is full of butterflies backstage, trying to calm yourself with idle chatter with a few of your friends.   Then the curtain opens, and you're no ...

   I am terrified of strangers.    On the internet, I get so excited when someone I don't know comments on my Pinterest photo or if they respond to my comment on a blog.    In the homeschool group that I'm a part of, if I don't know someone, I have the urge to meet them.   (That's how I met Kayla, and Tamara, and Kathrine, and Ashley.   I really should do a whole post on how I met my friends.   Homeschool groupies make awesome friends.)    But in other places, strangers terrify me.    I seem to be one of those people that random strangers want to talk to.   I have had random people compliment on my jewelry, ask if I liked dinosaurs, ask where I'm from, and randomly sit next to me in the kid's area of Chick-Fil-A to ask if my glasses are real (they're not.)   I usually give them a shy smile and a short answer, to be polite.   It's scary to me for some reason.    My cousin will tell people in ...

   Everyone appears to be making blog posts about August right about now.   I'm about to add to that.   Here is an original poem by me about August.   (And please don't steal it.   Follow the golden rule, people.   Thank you.) Hello, again. I've missed you. I wonder if y ou missed me, too? Did you wait Another year Just to blow my hair Oh, August winds? You fly on silver wings. Warm and friendly Are your days. I love all the golden haze That you bring here And cozy rains And yet you leave me Like a train. A train that breaks  A mother's heart; A train that breaks  A family apart. One to send away all our loves. And yet I still love you. Oh, August. Don't leave me so soon. ~August, by yours truly Kitty has to go, Grace Anna Rose