The armchair rocked back and forth, the school books were spread across the table in a glorious mess. There was no inclination as to where she should begin. Rummaging through the pages of her books she kept an eye on her flash cards and the other on the clock. The day started thirty minutes past the expected hour, her coffee still cold from ignoring it. Sarah marveled at the strangeness of her schoolbooks, the notes in which she looked at seemed to be from some other form, another time. Her separation from her interests made her less aware of how she was to approach learning and this kept her at a distance of at least three life times removed. She felt basically alone, her new friend showed less interest in her work than in himself. He to was removed from a world of intuition which needs saving, or at least a drop of interest.

The day has a burst of light with subtle breezes of warmth. In the hills roamed a baby giraffe only twelve days old, a rumor was spread that there had been two new ones. He had only seen the one two days ago. A sixth the size of her father so delicate and fragile the little one stretched her head towards the tops of a sugarpod Acacia tree.

The house of his friends was something that he never thought could exist outside of the human imagination. The structure and placement of the house restored his faith and hope for human creation. The whole house was thatched; the theme of the African bush was perfect for it was in the middle of the bush. When driving down the rocky hillside to reach the garage one could not even see where the house resided. Covered with thickly planted mountain Karees, multiple species of Acacias, and a dense grove of vines that hung from the properties gates the house seemed to be swalloed by vegetation. Inside on the property was every child’s dream. Turkeys and geese clumsily walked across the road towards the small herd of cows that were being feed from the troughs, a calf stood shy behind his mother. Chickens clucked their way into refugee in fear of everything. We grabbed some melons and apples and made our way to feed the giant tortoises that had their own area next to the garage. Rex a shorthaired German pointer, Button a Jack Russell Terrier, and Napoleon a golden retriever met us. Their happiness was enough to cure me of any thoughts of unhappiness.

How much of history is accurate, how much created by those with power? These questions I don’t ask to often and the answers to the questions do not bother me, for yesterday is history and tomorrow is a mystery. To dwell on past memories has only brought me more unrest than thinking of a future in which a projection of happiness is perhaps possible or not. Then I rest or find refuge in an unapologetic world that has no anger. The physical reaction that makes our world grow is as perplexing as to how something’s do not grow. Whether it is to strive to better ones self or a seed that was never sown. Life could very well be a cycle and for me there is nothing more perfect than an ovule.