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Santiam River on the drive from Portland to Bend.

For my writing class, we are told to write for 10 minutes a day. Even 5 minutes here, 5 minutes there. We can write about anything, random or not so much. I wrote this last night after having just arrived back in Bend. This is how I felt and what I did when we got to the house yesterday. Yes, I am just a little kid inside.

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My heart so happy, full of joy. I run through piles of snow, kicking it up in the air in childlike glee. My bare hand stings of cold as I plunge it into the snow. I make a fist, creating a tiny snowball. So perfect.. I toss it at a tree for lack of a nearby playmate to throw it at. 

Flakes come down heavy. I turn my face to the sky and feel them tickling my eyelids, dancing on my lashes, little drops of pleasure alighting on my face. 

Clouds escape my mouth – I can see my breath! I blow out continuously trying to make rings, watching it as I breathe. I feel like a little kid, excited, hopeful. Seeing only beauty in the world around me. 

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