Winding paths through tables and glass, first flowers bloom.

I closed my laptop and prepared to leave, slinging my father's borrowed yoga mat in it's pack over on shoulder, taking my bag filled with a few clothes and a rolled up piece of paper with art from my class and putting that on one shoulder, the other bag, filled with a deck of cards, a box of colored pencils, my loads of books, and now, my laptop, on the other shoulder. 

I turned the light off, and closed the door behind me. The air was cool and crisp outside, but not winter cold. The wind blew my hair back. I put my earphones in, and turned on my fuze(mp3 player that is NOT an ipod) and listened as the sounds of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, streamed in. I thought about what I must look like, my hair blowing back, the holes in my flare jeans flapping, the layers and straps and bags and the things sticking out of them everywhere. As each person passed, I smiled, and hoped it would make their day brighten. 

The air smelled good. I was tired, but not painfully so.  And anyways, I had arrived home. 

Happy. 

Title Quote: country girl, csny