[insert creative title here]

So my mother's cousin gave us this huge load of firewood, right?  Well my mother bought an axe so that we can split it up.  Unfortunately, she decided that because this axe is hers she is going to be the first one to use it.  She hasn't yet.  Sometimes I get home from a lame day at school and I want to go out and vent, but I can't because it's her axe.

-That Faraway Place-

There is a place far away

and it is beautiful.

The sun rests there, just so, and laughs a little

and the gold from it cascades

to the meadow below

where grows the softest grass,

rising and falling.

And the brook that runs through it is lively

it burbles and chatters

sometimes rushing and tripping over stones

and other times it catches in pools

where it sleeps under the warm sun,

in perfect contentment.

Through the whispering trees flit songbirds.

They are a pretty little chorus

and now and again one voice will lift above the others

in an exultant and joyous melody

now sailing high in the air

now moving to such a sorrowful tune,

low and lilting.

Beautiful.

It is all beautiful.

And alone in that place you can be happy

In that faraway place.

Now I'm going to go and bug my mother about that axe....