3 Things on my mind

1. Childhood
2. My dad and his girlfriend fighting
3. The baby bunnies in our backyard

1. I was trying to think of my childhood and why I liked nature and the relation between them. I was thinking about this when me and my mother were on the road to Manahawkin, NJ to see my friend's baby. Half of the drive there is through the Pinelands and forest; it is really beautiful and makes me sad that so many people don't see New Jersey like I can. When I was really young, I would go over my sort of grandmother's house (she was more of a Grandmother figure). She was wealthy and could afford a nice backyard; it had a pool, but what's more is that it had an old Christmas tree plot. She had her own forest, almost... it seemed like a forest to me because when you're only 3 feet or so, the world in general seems a lot bigger. Me and my sister would play in that; or I would play in it alone. In the center there was a salt lick for deer, but I never saw any. The adults did. I could only imagine. There was an even bigger forest area behind my grandmom's backyard, and you had to go through a wooden gate to get to it. You would be immediately greeted with the most ferocious looking broken tree; I thought it was a shark. You could then go down and there was a small stream and large rock that was exposed from the cliffs and you could imagine that you were in the grand canyon if you wanted. Which I did.
I think that's the main reason I like trees and nature.

2. Hearing my father and girlfriend fight and listening to their potential break-up makes me wonder if humans stop loving. Loving in the sense that they give up on finding a mate of sorts in the last years of their life, or, even if they have decided that for themselves, do they subconsciously still look out of the corner of their eyes for the ones that 'could be'? Or instead of saying, "I'm going to stop loving because I'm tired of this mess," do they say instead, "I have loved enough in my life." But that, I picture, is what they say when they are about to die.

3. There were baby bunnies in our back yard. Their mother dug a little hole and placed them inside of it, I assume to have them wait there and then she'd return to them. There were 2 bunnies. We found them when we let Vivi out to pee; she began bothering them... my dad got her away though. I've let her out multiple times since then, and last night there was some harsh rain. Today I went outside to catch a glimpse at the baby bunnies myself. It was horrible. One was still in the hole, eyes closed and its small body was stretched out like it was reaching for the grass. The other was on the grass on its side. Its tiny black eye was opening into a squint. I tried putting it in the hole with its sibling with a stick, but the other side of it was matted to the grass. It looked very soft. I couldn't do it. I called Vivi over, to see if she had done it. She looked guilty; but the bunnies had no sign of blood. BUT, all around the hole there was bits of grayish brown fur. This lead me to think that either
a. The rain killed them, but that wouldn't account for the extra fur
b. Vivi killed them; she looked guilty but she could have looked guilty because she knew they were dead or she was already yelled at for bothering them. Plus I don't let her out long enough.
c. We have a cat that comes to our backyard sometimes.

I wish I had brought my flashlight out into the rain. I heard squeaking noises sometimes. It makes me really sad.

I'm going back to Philadelphia today.

P.S. I don't know if you care for these types of post, but after I began reading again, I realized how much I missed actually WRITING. Not writing essays or my short paragraphed posts, but writing what is actually going on in my head. Writing the things that are not on the surface. I think I'm going to buy a composition book and keep a journal in which I will actually write. I will put posts like this still on here, along with my short ones, but I will be able to have tangible writing that I won't have to worry about because the world won't be able to touch it. My writing teacher won't touch it, you won't touch it. The only judge is myself. Unless of course it somehow gets into the hands of strangers.

Maybe I'll do that someday.