Who to put words together into meaningful prose? I do not know. I try to write and only come up with other peoples words.
The sun was shining in the western sky as a gentle breeze swept over her skin. She lay on her back in the middle of the trampoline warmed by the blackness of the canvas and the intensity of the sun through very little ozone. It was an unusual day for it was supposed to be winter, but the weather in New Zealand is unpredictable and capricious. Only that morning a light covering of frost had glittered on the ground and on the cars in the parking lot. It was a quite day, a day for contemplation and errant thoughts. For two months now, she had been living here, experiencing every range of emotion between the bitter harshness of utter lonelyness to the peaceful contentment of well placed community. She still missed the compainonship of that rare highly sought after bousome friend, but it’s loss no longer stood out in sharp contrast with her reality and so was easier to bear. What would the next two months bring? And the two after that? Only five more months, and the year twenty-ten would be gone and the decade of the ought’s well on it’s way into history. The days would go quickly, and with much to look forward to, who could blame them? And yet, with so much unknown, it was hard to keep the anxity at bay. “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, with prayer and petition, present your requests to God, and the peace of God, which transends all understanding, will gaurd your heart and mind in Chrsit Jesus.” These were the words that rang over and over agian in her head.
