Mr. Parkour

So my brother and I were having a conversation that totally made sense, and then he waves the "LADEN FORE-FINGER OF DOOM" at me and says,
"One day, my boomerang will come back to life and then you will regret naming your bobcat Joey!"

...
I definitely won't post the conversation that led up to this sentence here, but if anyone ever feels like coming out and visiting me at my home... Just ask!

A Short Poem

Hello, readers!
Here is something I wrote on a napkin.
I do hope that you enjoy it.

The silent, bare trees 
are like prison bars
to me. 

The cold, grey sky 
is like a cage 
to me.

The watchful, white owls 
are like jailers 
to me. 

But I do not mind 
This imprisonment,
these walls,

For the time passes quickly,
like flying,
to me.

IT'S STILL CHRISTMAS, DARN IT!

I know that I swore I would put something up on Christmas, so...IT'S STILL CHRISTMAS SEASON! I AM UPHOLDING MY PROMISE!
Also, do you know how hard it is to update on Christmas, when you have your - ahem - netherquarters handed to you?
Yes, it was exhausing. And I don't have any abstract shorts to give you.
I apologize.
Anyway, I didn't say what I would post, did I?

Keep checking, guys, I will post something else eventually.
And goodness gracious, do you know how much I love my Aunt and Uncle Awesome?
The whole time I was posting, I was also stuffing myself on Wonka's Frosty Nerds and some Pop Rocks.
Merry Christmas, readers!

Regulus and Lady

Dear readers: Ew.
Being born is a dirty process.
Nonetheless, the calf was born safely and is a wonderful little bull.
I call him Regulus and everyone else calls him Tri-Tip. Because he's probably going to Freezer Camp next year.
Pictures!

Some weird girl who was there...

Half-an-hour after it happened.

Enjoying the sunlight

That weird girl milking Lady. 

Regulus and Lady.

Update

Dear readers: I'm a terrible person. I know I promised that I wouldn't leave you in the loop for a month, so here are some old writings of mine I found in an old journal.
TAKE THEM! TAKE ALL OF THEM! BE HAPPY!
I might not post again until Christmas, but I swear on my wings I will find time to post something for a Christmas update.
I barely was able to post today, because...well, a baby is being born. A baby calf.
I will post some pictures once it is finished being born.
And I love you all.
~Ivey Vine

Forever Lost

I hate the feeling of being lost, even if I’m not at the moment. I quietly slip through the doors, making sure that they won’t creak when I close them. I have three hours, three beautiful, cold, starry hours until the sun awakens Reality and I am once more caught in the web of social pleasantries. I’m glad I brought a sweater; it hugs me and keeps me from knowing the nightly terrors that that might make me afraid to go on. The smoky suburban air catches at my throat; I frown and it clears away to reveal where he stands in the cold street light, his breath making the air dance in mute delight. We walk on, watching light dance on water, watching fire try to escape, watching each other. I try to talk, but there’s something in my mind that tells me it’s a bad idea. He speaks instead, painting the sky with what could be stars, with what could be sparkling diamonds too beautiful to turn into jewelry, or maybe rips in the very fabric of whatever this world is made of. We walk back in silence, waiting until the very last moment to decide. The sky is lightening as we choose to be together, and just as our lips touch, the sun appears. 

Forgotten Dreams

The stars shone above us as I heard him laugh. He has a quiet laugh, a laugh full of meaning. Why won’t he be here forever? The moon gave us a celestial wink as it watched us. Crickets can chirp, but they can’t sing. I believe that the ugliest worm could become a glistening snake if it touched a star. Can a dress be made out of moonlight? No, but his clothes are, his jeans and shirt and shoes. I want to waltz on the pool with him, and he agrees. He doesn’t know how to waltz, though; he only knows how to tango. I teach him to waltz, and the surface of the pool turns into a silver mirror, the stars into dance lights, the moon shedding a single beam upon us. His clothes turn into something like a tuxedo, but with a more elegant name. My plain skirt and shirt turn into a ball gown, with the glistening snake as a necklace. Cinderella dropped her ball and made a crystal cavern, a cricket-chirping concert hall. The bats and owls swerve around our heads, and as I look into his eyes, I suddenly know that it’s a dream.