Avalon Hill

It’s just a bike ride up Avalon Hill,

past that rickety, old bridge

that looks over the calm, sapphire-colored water.

Following the bridge, there’s that one house,

with the most beautiful rose garden,

a constant swarm of butterflies surrounding it.

A few blocks down, I see the house with the chipping white paint,

and the black lab always sleeping serenely on the porch.

Occasionally his owner will be out there sitting beside him,

sipping her coffee in a faded purple mug,

she’ll flip through the latest tabloids,

as I continue to pedal.

From there I make a sharp left turn

onto the corner,

where I watch all sorts of people

flood in and out of the farmer’s market.

Some are there purchasing their produce for the week,

others picking up a bouquet for a loved one.

A few stores down is the bakery,

the one with the neon sign,

it never fails to fill the morning air

with smells of fresh-baked cupcakes and cannoli.

Finally,

I turn onto Main Street,

and there you are,

waiting for me.

Ava Tuohy, Grade 11

Creative Writing Major