Palmtree Contemplations

"Fill us up! Fill us up!" The white pages called "Fill us up! Fill us up!" What shall I write? I asked in reply. Of truth, and of love, Of beauty, and goodness. Of sadness, and sorrow, Of pain, and of trials.  Fill us with life, All the life that is longing to break  Forth from your pen onto our  Silent white pages.  But how? I replied.  How shall I fill you? With courage and hope,  One word at a time.  Don't waste a second now.   Fill us up! Fill us up! So I picked up my pen, and  I wrote, and I wrote, filling The pages with color and life.  Everyday I answer the lurking question What shall I write? With "What can't I write?"

           Wednesday was not a good day. When I came back to my room from dinner I really did not want to go and practice piano. I really wanted to lay in bed, eat peanut butter, make myself some milk powder paste, and read a book about Baghdad. There were a few problems with that, though. First, I could not lay in bed without feeling guilty because I have the gift of responsibility. Secondly, I did not have peanut butter or milk powder. And thirdly, I knew from experience that the book about Baghdad would only satisfy me if I had finished everything I wanted to finish. "Set out to finish" is a better way of putting it, since I really did not want to do any work right then. I trudged out the door towards the back of the Cathedral. Sometimes I really despise being responsible.           The halls of the music department are not straight. They curve and wind, like catacombs lined with blue-grey carpet.  When I arrived Wednesday night I unlocked my practice cell and went throug

          Sometimes when the rain hit the aluminum roofs the only sound I heard was a tinkling. Those times I did not worry too much because it meant only a light sprinkle and some steam off the sidewalks if the sun was out in full force. Other times, though, the first drops would pelt the roofs hard and fast. It did not matter what I was doing, then. If I was not at home, I started running, racing the wave of rain to the clothes' line.           Once the clothes were safe, I was back outside no longer fighting the rain, but reveling in it. My friends and I played soccer in the half flooded field, kicking up water and loose grass. More than once I hit a cluster of fire ants in the puddles, and had to go running to the rain gutter to rinse them off. I didn't care, though, because it was an excuse to feel that wonderful, clean rain water rushing down on my head like a waterfall. Afterwards, we lay down on the still warm futsal court and stuck out our tongues to catch the raindro