Personal Narrative- Intro

It’s like angel hair, this memory. It’s so light and ethereal and gleaming. The world danced around me, as I sat upon the top stair of my freshly painted wooden porch, turning the crunchy page of my latest reader The Secret Garden. As I look up from the page, the swirling spring breeze buzzes with comforting clearness. Following the terra-cotta brick side walk with dandelions inching their way to life: my own secret garden. The flowers sway whimsically from side to side, leaving a transparent magic with their paintbrush like petals: red, pink, yellow watercolors. I paint what I see. Daffodils and roses and Oh! A dainty hummingbird sucking some nectar! I jump up, float to the kitchen and retrieve some polished binoculars from the school supply cupboard. My lesson begins by skimming through the pages of my antiquated bird book and deciphering what bird could be so gleefully playing in my garden.
I am being educated.