A breeze lethargically swept across my face and whispered springs passion into my ear. Kind scents of budding roses and pine trees pranced with the breeze. The naïve grass gently tugged me towards earth’s soul. Flawless blue skies grinned as the sun cowardly glazed my body in warmth. On my chest was a notebook and in my hand a pen. My mother presented me with the notebook on my seventh birthday. At the time I was puzzled by the gift, unsure of its use. But it aided me to discovery within. This notebook translated my wild imagination into words. It brought forth my passion of writing.