Extension of Eden

Chapter 1

Acacia Smith- the Acacia tree and the Waterfall

by: Darsha
"Under the Acacia Tree." was the lullaby that my mother sang to me when I was little. As I grew older, she sang to me less and less, but now I realize why. I also realize what the sweet soprano tune meant.

It was a sunny Sunday morning when it all began. My parents and I went to the church service down at the Lutheran chapel. When I was little I used to stand in awe of the giant steeple, now I dream of painting it. I remember being unable to concentrate on the sermon. Normally I sit in the pews and soak in every word, dwelling on it's meaning, and thinking of how it will impact my walk with God, but today I was too busy thinking about what it would be like to sketch the flowers in the garden of Eden. This was no coincidence.

After the final prayer of the day my parents and I visited with some of our old friends, and shook hands with a new family. It must be strange to move to a new place. I've lived in the same house my entire life.

"Acacia, my sweet tree," my mother said, "Would you please set the table for lunch."

My father walked in the room planted a kiss on my head.

"You need to take a bath," he said.

"Da-ad" I said, turning his name into two syllables, "I showered this morning!"

He just laughed and began taking out plates, and bringing them to the dining room table. We ate a salad that my Mother had prepared last night. She stays true to the law, "the Sabbath is for rest." even though the Sabbath is technically Saturday.

After lunch my parents sat down in the living room and turned on the Discovery Channel. They are both environmentalists so those kinds of things fascinate them. I on the other hand, am an artist. Pretty much the entire school knows it since I take as many art classes as possible. My room is decorated with sketches, and paintings, and whatever else I have created.

Apparently I was driving my parents batty so they sent me outside.

"We love you Acacia, but you need to go find something to do, "my Mother said, exasperated. So I left the house, still feeling as restless as ever.

We live just outside of Lowston, not exactly in the country, but right on the edge. Sot of suburban, but Lowston isn't large enough for that. There is a woody area abut a mile away from my home, but no one ever goes there. At least, I thought it was no one.

I felt adventurous that afternoon, and I set out walking. Ever since I turned 15 my parents have given me more freedom. Even though I am an only child, they aren't too protective over me like some parents can be.

My long striped maxi-skirt swished against my legs. Most girls prefer pants, saying they are easier to move in, but I really love the way my long cotton skirts feel, and the way that they move with you.

I reached the forested area, and feeling more daring than usual, I began to enter. Mostly I wanted something to do or something to draw. The undergrowth looked thick, and as I wondered how on earth I would get through it, it seemed as though a path spread out before me. Strange as it was, a small, navigate able path was emerging. Intrigued, I went forward.

After a bit of walking I came across a clearing. My jaw must have dropped in awe as I took my surroundings. There was a rumbling waterfall, that fell into a small, Chrystal clear pond, that drained away into a tricking brook.

The birds were singing in the background, and there were two mossy stone benches, slightly decays, but still standing proud and strong. the grass was green, and the sun was shining radiantly through a break in the trees overhead.

The most amazing thing was that standing I front of me, was a large acacia tree, it's boughs spreading wide, and it's trunk low to the ground. It was beautiful. I had never seen my name before, not like this.

Had I not been astounded, I would have realized that acacia trees grow in the savannah. But I was too busy taking it all in like a breathe.

"I am going to paint you one day,'' I told the tree, feeling the leaves in my hand.

This place was divine, perfect for creating, and drawing, and sketching, and painting, and everything! I spun in a circle and fell to the soft forest floor.

Excitedly, I pranced over to the pool by the waterfall and peered into the crystal clear water at my reflection. At first I thought I saw another face, but it must I figured it must have been my imagination because the water rippled and i saw my own face.

Every time I look in the mirror my face seemed familiar. Fair skin, dark brown eyes that I inherited from my father, and dark brown hair tied in a clip. My father said was pretty and that all the boys must think so, but I always just smiled falsely and nodded. I wasn't pretty. Pretty was the blonde haired freckled faced skinny muscular cheerleaders, without glasses.

Somehow, somehow, that watery looking glass made me feel beautiful. I took the clip out of my hair and shook out the dark glossy waves, and smiled at myself.

Then I pulled out my sketch book (I always carry a sketch book and pencil on me just in case, it's a habit), sat on the mossy stone bench, and began drawing the other one. I wished I had more supplies. With pastels, and pencils, and paints, and crayons, and water colors, I could recreate this entire new world, and bring it home to keep.

But I only had a pencil. Contentedly I sat, sketching the bench, knowing that from now on I would come back to create again. I had been so long tired of recreating house hold objects and people. This place was where I was meant to get lost. Get lost in the art.

I sat there for hours, furthering the details in the sketch so it looked real. Eventually I had to force myself to leave, but I knew that I would soon be back, but next time with colored pencils.

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