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Writer's Craft Activity 2 |
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My first remembered experience with�
Imagination:
As I lift up my daffodil covered plastic tea pot, I glance across the low table at my little brother. His name is little brother; he has no need for any other name. He smiles at me as I pour some �tea� into his matching daffodil tea cup. He sits there, across the table from me, and listens intently. He always listens to me; he�s always by my side. He nods as I ask him if he wants a cookie. Chocolate chip are his favorite.
I pour myself some �tea� and blow on it to cool it down. Little brother takes a sip of his �tea� and promptly yelps and almost drops his cup. He has burnt his tongue, yet again. I peer over the rim of my cup and sigh. He should know better by now. Poor little brother. I stand up, walk over to him, and hug him, telling him that he should let the �tea� cool first. I take out my Kleenex and wipe his tears.
Little brother nods in thanks and asks for more tea, promising that this time he will wait until it�s cool. I carefully pour some into his cup and watch in pride as he gently blows on it to cool it. I love being his big sister. Little brother looks up at me and smiles the largest and warmest smile I have ever seen. He loves being my little brother.
Little brother looks past me, towards the teacher, and frowns. It�s time to go home. Time for my little brother to leave me for another day. I don�t want to think about it. I slowly pick up my teapot as my little brother stacks the cups. The cookies are stowed away for another day and the tea set it stacked on a shelf. I turn to my little brother and hug him goodbye, �See you tomorrow?� I ask. He simply nods. I head for the door, along with all the other kindergarteners, and look back only once to wave to my �little brother� before heading home. I plan to tell my older sister at home how much fun I had with my little brother today. I smile as I here him call �goodbye� to me, knowing that he�ll be here tomorrow.
Creativity:
�Stop it!� the older of the two sisters called out as the younger one chased after her. Red paint in one hand, blue in the other, the younger girl ran after her sister, intent on making a masterpiece. She saw no harm in it. A little paint never hurt anyone. Not to mention, in her opinion, the paint would improve her image!
As the older of the two stopped for a breath, and for a chance to call out to her mother, the younger sister saw an opportunity. She pounced upon her sister and lunged in with both hands, painting a huge smile across her sister�s frowning face.
�There! Beautiful!� the younger sister exclaimed as she reached toward her sister once again, planning to add a little blue to the red on her sister�s now beet red face. Her creativity at this age was questionable, but was present.
The older sister called out for their mother, but to her dismay, she was busy with the laundry. With a sigh of defeat, she sat down on the stairs to await their mother, submitting her face to the artistically challenged hands of her younger sister. This sister, now smelling victory, clambered down the last few steps and kelt in front of her prey. Reaching out carefully, she began to paint the face of her sister.
Some minutes later, with a tired tone in her voice, their mother appeared at the foot of the stair. She looked from one child to the other and smothered a laugh. The eldest looked like a statue, still and steady as her younger sister created a �masterpiece� of red and blue paint on her face. Their mother reached down and pulled the younger of the two away from her sister. With a triumphant �Aha!� and a final flourishing sweep of her brush, the younger sister�s creation was complete. Begging for praise from her mother, she promptly got red and blue paint on both her own shirt and her mothers pants. Their mother sighed heavily and gathered the child up, calling to the older sister to come upstairs with them to get washed up. With the young master painter under one arm, a load of laundry in the other, and a disgruntled child trudging behind her, the mother led the girls into the washroom, turned on the water, and closed the door.
Fantasy:
Closing her eyes, the young girl created a picture in her mind. the horse was golden with a white mane and tail. The dress was blue with small silver details. The forest was ominous, dark, and foreboding. She looked around her and knew where she must go: down the path, toward her fate, toward the cave. With a soft click of her tongue, she led her horse towards the cave�s gaping mouth�
�Don�t stop there!� I exclaimed as my mother put down the book. �No fair! It was just getting to the good part!� �Another night dear, for now, you can dream up your fantasy ending.� I sighed loudly to show my disgust, and kissed my mother goodnight. �time fore my day-night-dream!� I thought to myself. A day-night-dream, a day-dream at night. A chance for my imagination to flow freely and for my mind to create a fantasy world in which to fall into. I�d been doing this for years now, falling into a world of my make believe. And so I close my eyes�
The cave was cool and damp and her steed did not like it at all. As she stroked her horse�s mane to calm her down, the young girl noticed a light coming from the end of the tunnel, a soft light of pale green. It enticed the girl and horse forward. After being lost in the unpleasant woods and being drawn into this equally unpleasant cave, the light offered hope, warmth, and happiness. �Almost there.� the girl said out loud, to calm herself, her horse, or both she did not know. As her steed moved closer, the light grew and began to consume the darkness around her. The girl gasped in awe as horse and rider stepped out of the cave and into the light, an instant warmth filled her as she looked around. Here was the garden in which she had found the cave in the first place. Here was the fountain in which she had dropped her last penny, wishing for an adventure. Here was her tree swing, moving slightly in the breeze. And here was her home. Yes. She was finally done her quest. She was home.
 blue2draconian · Mon Feb 14, 2005 @ 01:48am · 0 Comments |
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