Thank God I checked the due time...
Jun. 20th, 2010 11:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jadelyntateProfessor has the due time as 12:30 AM on June 21st. Which means I got this in with an hour to spare.
Untitled
The stereotype image of grass is green—pure, unadulterated, green. The green found in cartoons and movies.
The grass in front of Richardson Hall, however, is not this picturesque green, though I suspect the school officials would like it to be. Instead, there is lime, viridian, olive, yellow, and light and dark browns. This is, of course, with the sun shining brightly, leaving no place for subterfuge. If it were cloudy or anytime other than high noon, I imagine I would be unable to see just how many variations there are in the grass as I think on what to write.
I sit on a stone bench, made of facsimile of marble, by the horse and rider statue. My attention is caught by movement on the ground near me. It is a bee and for a moment I feel a flash of panic. I have never been stung and I have no wish to be. But the bee seemingly has no interest in the human sitting near it. It continues assaulting the flower it has found.
After a few minutes writing, I look back and discover the bee has lost interest in the flower, having flown away in the brief moment my attention was on words rather than its pursuit of pollen or whatever it was the tiny pilot was searching for.
Another bout of writing and my attention is once again diverted from pen and paper, not by a bee but by people. Four students, high school age, are outside the School of Business building. They have skateboards and the clatter of their attempts at tricks fills the area. Their yells, loud and startled as they inevitably fall, is the distraction.
The bee has returned. Or, perhaps, it is a new bee, a brother, but I prefer to think it is the one I observed before. It is closer this time, so close I can see how it grabs the individual petals of the odd-looking flower it has found, sticking its head into the stalks, looking for the supplies to make its honeycomb.
Perhaps this how the stereotype of the working husband and father got started. Male bees go out of their comb, gathering pollen, braving nature both human and Earth's, as well as each other. After a time, a few hours or a day, they return home with their labor. In this, they create a home for their queen, food for the children.
I come out of my musings to discover the four high school students have suddenly become a dozen, with instructors talking to keep them quiet. Another group who has determined that the weather is just too nice to remain inside a boring classroom, with its white walls, orange desks, and the ability to hear lectures two rooms over.
A breeze comes up, stronger than the faint ones before it. It cools my heated skin even as it flows through the flags behind me. It is only now as I acknowledge the flag's rope hitting its pole that I hear the other sounds. Cars on the nearby highway, a lawnmower or leaf blower over by Porter Hall, the amused laughter of a classmate talking with our professor. Despite all this, it is peaceful. A moment of calm to fall back on in the future.
New tag today: nonfiction
Also? I totally need a generic writing icon. Maybe something likeitsbuttery's Ethan/livejournal but without the text. And possibly a Criminal minds once since that's my current fandom focus.
In other news, anyone got any ideas on what I could do or say for my meta on fanfiction for my creative non-fiction class? I mentioned fanfiction to the prof, he didn't know what it was, I explained, and now he's suggested that be one of my topics. Um. Please? Cause all I can think of at the moment is the history of fanfiction which...yeah. Let's not. I want people to actually WANT to read this.
Untitled
The stereotype image of grass is green—pure, unadulterated, green. The green found in cartoons and movies.
The grass in front of Richardson Hall, however, is not this picturesque green, though I suspect the school officials would like it to be. Instead, there is lime, viridian, olive, yellow, and light and dark browns. This is, of course, with the sun shining brightly, leaving no place for subterfuge. If it were cloudy or anytime other than high noon, I imagine I would be unable to see just how many variations there are in the grass as I think on what to write.
I sit on a stone bench, made of facsimile of marble, by the horse and rider statue. My attention is caught by movement on the ground near me. It is a bee and for a moment I feel a flash of panic. I have never been stung and I have no wish to be. But the bee seemingly has no interest in the human sitting near it. It continues assaulting the flower it has found.
After a few minutes writing, I look back and discover the bee has lost interest in the flower, having flown away in the brief moment my attention was on words rather than its pursuit of pollen or whatever it was the tiny pilot was searching for.
Another bout of writing and my attention is once again diverted from pen and paper, not by a bee but by people. Four students, high school age, are outside the School of Business building. They have skateboards and the clatter of their attempts at tricks fills the area. Their yells, loud and startled as they inevitably fall, is the distraction.
The bee has returned. Or, perhaps, it is a new bee, a brother, but I prefer to think it is the one I observed before. It is closer this time, so close I can see how it grabs the individual petals of the odd-looking flower it has found, sticking its head into the stalks, looking for the supplies to make its honeycomb.
Perhaps this how the stereotype of the working husband and father got started. Male bees go out of their comb, gathering pollen, braving nature both human and Earth's, as well as each other. After a time, a few hours or a day, they return home with their labor. In this, they create a home for their queen, food for the children.
I come out of my musings to discover the four high school students have suddenly become a dozen, with instructors talking to keep them quiet. Another group who has determined that the weather is just too nice to remain inside a boring classroom, with its white walls, orange desks, and the ability to hear lectures two rooms over.
A breeze comes up, stronger than the faint ones before it. It cools my heated skin even as it flows through the flags behind me. It is only now as I acknowledge the flag's rope hitting its pole that I hear the other sounds. Cars on the nearby highway, a lawnmower or leaf blower over by Porter Hall, the amused laughter of a classmate talking with our professor. Despite all this, it is peaceful. A moment of calm to fall back on in the future.
New tag today: nonfiction
Also? I totally need a generic writing icon. Maybe something like
itsbuttery's Ethan/livejournal but without the text. And possibly a Criminal minds once since that's my current fandom focus.In other news, anyone got any ideas on what I could do or say for my meta on fanfiction for my creative non-fiction class? I mentioned fanfiction to the prof, he didn't know what it was, I explained, and now he's suggested that be one of my topics. Um. Please? Cause all I can think of at the moment is the history of fanfiction which...yeah. Let's not. I want people to actually WANT to read this.
