The numbers dance fuzzily in my brain. Plus this, minus that, times everything, square both sides, and f of x equals whatever. I stare up at the clock as the numbers take a second to come into focus, and begin another calculation: How many hours of sleep will I get tonight? Not enough. I close the book and pile the notebooks, pencils, calculator and whatever other paraphernalia is keeping me from sleeping on my bed, onto the desk. Class early tomorrow morning. What was I thinking when I picked the 8 o’clock slot? Correction: why wasn’t I thinking when I picked the 8 o’clock slot? I brush my teeth and curl up in bed, my mind obsessively compiling everything I have to do. Plan research paper, write an essay, read what some dead guy wrote, do math…no, wait, I did that. But even though I accomplish so much there’s always more to learn. I fall asleep meaninglessly pondering the significance of Sherlock Holmes in Victorian England. I am a college student; this is my dream.

Diamonds in the Mud

A little girl is playing in her yard, when her Father steps out the front door. Slowly He goes over and kneels down in front of her. With all His love and joy pouring from His smile He pulls a beautiful doll from behind His back, a doll with bright blue eyes and a full, white dress. “Take care of her” the Father gently tells the girl and hands her the doll. Clasping it to her chest the girl skips around the yard, her Father looking on. She prances across the yard and, opening her arms, drops the doll in a mud puddle. Kneeling next to it she leans over to pat mud into the white dress. Her Father watches, His eyes no longer shining but dulled with pain, as His gift, so preciously bestowed, is cheapened and ruined.

In the Shadows

Standing in the dark, cold cutting through the thin jacket or sweatshirt or whatever you threw on. Behind you cars whiz past on the bypass. You glance anxiously into the shadow of the trees, unable to see the imagined dangers they conceal. The wind blows them back and forth in its chaotic strength, and they bow to its wishes. Though your mind firmly tells itself to get a grip, your emotions hijack all rational thought as your imagination nurtures subdued terror. You look up from under the oak tree; the filaments of its naked branches weave a delicate lace across the sky. Through this you see the stars, though few are visible in the glare of man made lights. And, in spite of everything, you recognize the beauty in that cold night: the power of the dark and its harmony with silver light. You gaze for a moment, a moment of wonder, and then rush back to warmth and safety.