apple eyes

I don't remember much about how I began or how the dirt tasted the moment I was planted, but I do remember the family that grew next to me. A family of four- a mum and a dad and two little girls. I remember the girls running through the yard, twirling until they fell dizzily into the shady grass beneath me.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say that I was their nanny.

I remember watching those girls giggling and chasing their dad around the yard until they finally caught him and demanded a piggy-back ride. I remember the younger, her long curly hair that bounced with every step. Her round cheeks that completed her smile reminded me how lovely and lively  she could be.

I remember the older, not much older than the younger. Her honey-brown hair fell right below her ears. She was much more dainty than the younger and was always off in her own world. She was a dreamer.

I guess you could say she was the one who instigated  all the twirling.

My girls were best friends, just like they should be. Beautiful and vibrant, they were the reason I bloomed every spring. I grew stronger and taller for my girls. They would climb up in my arms and their laughter would ring through my limbs. I loved to hold my girls.

Their mum and dad put up a tire swing on my lower limb. I knew my girls would love it.

And they did.

And I continued to grow and bloom so I could watch my girls do the same.


I remember that year. It was the year 2000, the year that everything changed. It was the year their laughter became nothing but a faded melody and the yard a dull photograph of what it used to be.

Spring came, but this time I had to force myself to bloom. The tire swing was removed and the rope left a scar, a reminder of how strong I used to be.

The fence fades and splinters. I stand and listen. Nothing.

This yard is an empty void I cannot fill.


The years drag on and it's spring again. I see a young woman slowly walking towards me. Once she is close enough,  I see her face and I realize that it is all to familiar.

My girl.

My girl is all grown up. Older is older and beautiful. Her hair now hovers above her elbow and her smile is stunning. I look into her eyes and I can see: She is a dreamer. Once again she climbs into my arms and she begins to tell me everything. I feel like we never skipped a beat.

I bloom. But this time it's different because I know everything is going to be alright.

-Madison Beardall

come on eileen.

Nobody could have prepared me for being eighteen.

Nobody could have warned me about being a senior in high school and actually catching senioritis. Nobody could prepared me for all of this change: moving out, moving on, friends going on missions, friends going to different schools.

me.

I couldn't have predicted this. I couldn't have predicted the maturity (or the lack therof) of my mind or the shoes I would fill. I couldn't have predicted the friendships I would create- the ones that would stick and the ones that would crumble. I never imagined the heartache I would feel and the tears I would shed. I never imagined I could ever find so much joy.

As a child, joy is an everyday feeling. But I honestly don't I knew what I was feeling. Going from young peepster to teeny bop to eighteen, pain gets mixed into the bowl of joy, and sometimes not so gently. I think it was then that I began to understand joy. The worst of times helped me see the best of times. I just wish I would have taken into consideration the fact that the best of times won't last forever, despite how much we want them to.

"Some kind of innocence is measured out in years," they say and I actually think I know what they meant by that. And I would choose years of experience over living in innocence forever, but I think that is a given.

And I remember being in elementary and junior high thinking that I would forever hate poetry. Oh, the rhyming nonsense- I just couldn't take it! But here I am: writing. Writing what I would like to call some form of poetry. I remember the first poem I read where I actually cried. Tears of joy, of course.  I remember feeling hungry for more- more words. Please, inspire me, because my hands are ready to take anything you are willing to give.

Times come and go and people will change. I will change. And all I can hope and pray for is that this change will always be for the better.