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	<title>simone. &#187; friends</title>
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		<title>simone. &#187; friends</title>
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		<title>5 5-min narratives</title>
		<link>http://simone11.wordpress.com/2008/02/15/5-5-min-narratives/</link>
		<comments>http://simone11.wordpress.com/2008/02/15/5-5-min-narratives/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 14 Feb 2008 20:50:57 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>simone</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[homework]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[narrative]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Brittany]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Cloud]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[food]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[friends]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Louise]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[mountains]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[names]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Shira]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Tibet]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[woods]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://simone11.wordpress.com/?p=8</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[ 1) place
The woods.  Early winter.  Just when the lakes glaze over with a thin layer of ice.  After the first snowfall, maybe.  I am sitting on the fallen tree again, the one that makes a bridge from bank to bank over the still flowing river.  My legs swing as freely [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=simone11.wordpress.com&blog=2868603&post=8&subd=simone11&ref=&feed=1" />]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class='snap_preview'><br /><p> 1) place<br />
The woods.  Early winter.  Just when the lakes glaze over with a thin layer of ice.  After the first snowfall, maybe.  I am sitting on the fallen tree again, the one that makes a bridge from bank to bank over the still flowing river.  My legs swing as freely as pendulums, boots brushing the surface of the water.  My hands are freezing, I remember.  So I get up to go home, but slip on a delicate patch of icy frost and remember the water being cold.</p>
<p>2) person <br />
I met myself, once.  Shira.  My alter-ego, my alias, the name I chose for myself when playing those mindless childhood games.  Her name was Shira &#8212; her <i>real</i> name.  My jaw dropped when she said it.  I met her in a coffee shop and learned that she&#8217;d traveled the world.  She&#8217;d trekked across countries, roamed entire continents.  We exchanged numbers when we parted, but who knows where she is now.</p>
<p>3) a time, alone<br />
I stood on the top of a mountain, as tip-top as I could get.  It took me awhile, as I shifted myself about for those last five or so feet, carefully calculating which slightly more elevated patch of land would merit being called the tip.  I stood there, hands on hips, looking around.  I stood there, quite alone, one girl atop a mountain amidst the mighty Himalayas.</p>
<p>4) understanding the world<br />
When he told me he loved me, I began to reassess my priorities.  He gazed confidently into my eyes and I suddenly understood love songs.  I suddenly had <i>true</i> empathy for the voices behind all those songs, all those tens of thousands of songs.  He broke down a wall and a whole world of undiscovered meaning came pouring in.</p>
<p>5) friends<br />
It was Brittany&#8217;s turn, so Louise and I tried to be inconspicuous as we quietly stood watch.  The target: a large red bowl of dark chocolate truffles.  It was Saturday, so the samples were particularly good today.  Ten minutes ago, the bowl looked invitingly full.  As I pretended to read the ingredients on a cereal box, I heard, for the fifth time in ten minutes, the small &#8220;Aha!&#8221; that Brittany let out as if she&#8217;d just spotted the chocolates for the very first time, and was presently relishing in her new discovery.</p>
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			<media:title type="html">simone</media:title>
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