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A Girl’s Dream: This Town

Anna Josefin Palm

Thursday, June 28, 2012


I do like this house.

No, really.

Far away from the excitement,

The urban, hectic life I dream of.

… well, yes, despite that it’s too quiet around here.

With two good high schools, a library,

Lots and lots churches,

No downtown, not even a movie theater.

It’s nice here.

It is slightly parallel with the old country,

Since it is closer to wild life.

There is even a small animal kingdom in my backyard.

Ignoring the suburban surroundings, a doe

Decided to go on an adventure.

I silently gasp at her gentle stature when Mamma

Pokes me to put the pen aside.

I feel like a child watching the bats waking up as the

Sun is slowly gliding behind the horizon,

Its shining hands painting the fading blue sky with

Pink and gray and purple and orange.

Matt would have laid down on the grass, folded

His hands behind his head and

Quietly admired this spectacle.

Dearest Rose would enjoy the sunset as well.

It would breeze through her and settle the storm in her mind.

I know she would certainly also

Love the thunder

That seems to have gathered inside one mean cloud,

Lightning that gray fluff,

Looking like giant fire flies, glowing, dying,

Pause… glowing, dying again.

Birds are growing tired and their song tone down.

Sometimes a bat sends a ring into the

Approaching night, flutters above the roofs.

Cicadas are stepping in, like an after-show special.

Instead of a loud hiss that press your

Ear-drums at noon,

They raise their voices to a slow, rising buzz

That vibrates the air.

Air that you could touch, thickened

By the summer heat.

Today the wave continued to hit us,

Worse than predictable tidal waves.

More like a cranky pregnant woman who

Claims again and again that it’s

Too hot in the living room, and

Yells at her husband to turn up the AC.

Even the bats left their nest towards

The end of the afternoon

And swooped by the pool to drink,

Then quickly retreated back to the

Shadows inside the big tree.

I look up from my book—The Goblet of

Fire—and start thinking.

In the story… it is

Raining as Harry and his two best friends board the train.

I start thinking of a wide flower field that

Stretches out in front of me until it

Touches the line of trees in the distance.

Could as well be Sweden, with the majority of its

Landscape left to its own business,

Unmarked by man.

… But now I am thinking of England, of its

Own old country.

The woods, small huts, cows, birds, a moor

Recalled from Secret Garden,

A festival of flowers.

The thought that appeals to me the most is


Nothing feels holier than rain.

To me at least.

However, I don’t think of any religious purpose

One might have.

I think of peace of mind. A nice, quiet town

Like this does not give me

Peace. It brings me happiness.

God knows that counting my


Is the closest I’ll ever

Get to praying.

Anyway… perhaps living in a cabin

Somewhere in England, where I could

Spend my days writing,

Would be healthy.

I want out.

I want to stop living

Half of my life

Inside my head.

Watching the bats passing by once more,

Drinking the pool water in

Elegant dives,

Makes me imagine living in

A magical place.

Like Hogwarts. Similar to most children,

I wanted to go there, but

Let’s be honest.

If I was reading Time Is A River, I would

Now fantasize of spending my

Summer at the mountains in North Carolina.

Pretty much anywhere else but in this

Little, little calm town.

The lone thing to stimulate my spirit

Is to put these childish wishes

On paper.

A dreamer…

Until opportunity calls…

Is all I am.