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a mid-summer nights' dream
by margaret anderson, age 20 something

our house sits on a small hill, comfortably looking out over the rolling prairie. the road is paralleled by a row of giant maple trees leading up to the house. as i lie on the front porch in summertime, i relax and stare into the star-filled space. how cozy the night feels, with this great white umbrella shutting out the uncertain space beyond. then the moon comes sailing in under the umbrella casting long shadows through the trees and across the porch. nature puts on a great show if you just wait and listen for sounds of the rural evening. crickets and frogs are continually complaining from the creek, while the owls reprimand them in ominous tones. the horses and cattle in the orchard alternately sleep and crash about through the brush, while the newly weaned calf bawls for his mother. other barnyard sounds are occasionally drowned by passing cars who leave great clouds of dust in their trail. as i lie there on the porch, the steel windmills philosophical creaking and moaning soon send me off to sleep. there i find myself in the morning, rudely awakened by the raucous sun.