Chinese Lanterns

I'm sitting in my bed. There are little peach and silver flowers stretching little fingers in vines all down my thick white covers. Pete's laptop is on my lap, upon which I am tapping keys. Simon and Garfunkel sing Scarborough Fair from the speakers under my wrists. The window in our pink bathroom is open, the lights are off. The wind rushes past the lace curtains, blowing them back and forth. It slips through the trees, and the trees breathe. At least, I hear it. The wind hushes, a quiet melody of soft, crisp autumn. If I were a leaf, I would love to turn gold in autumn and be touched by the wind. It's cold. My toes are cold. I'm wearing my favorite purple sweater. The lamp by my bed is on. The lamp on the drawers is on. My soft light comes from two directions. I think I'll turn on the white Chinese lanterns that Sarah brought us. They're hanging above my bed, above the little wire heart with the beads I love so much and the bow on top, above the Mormonad posters. They hang over my orange wall. Across from me, perched on the windowsill is a picture of a girl with long brown hair and a book placed over her knee, in her white dress. Her head is tilted up. She is looking towards a light in the sky. Maybe she is the light. The mountains and the trees escape from behind her. She has faith and knowledge. It is interesting how days begin, and how they end. I'm not exactly sure how the day went. Tomorrow is full of early morning and roof-sitting. Homework sings to me from my backpack, the sad, mournful song of a duty that does not want to be done. I want to read a hundred books from my list, to reread Persuasion and to watch The West Wing or North and South. I want to write a thousand stories, or read the Book of Mormon in Spanish. I want to write letters to people I love on thick, creamy paper. I want to do my Personal Progress, read my scriptures, play piano and violin. I want to wash my face, take out my contacts, brush my teeth, brush my hair, find pijamas. I want to dance and sing, and I want to sleep. But my bed is covered with white covers and little flowers, and the light is soft and quiet. The cicadas are making music outside. The wind will come back with the smell of autumn.