The sound of memory (Elizabeth)

I am nine years old, short for my age and some what of a tomboy. My brown hair stays tied back in a pony tail and my large brown eyes watch my dad eager to help any time I can. I sit on a nearby gate watching my dad paint the last rail of our twelve acre long fence. As each stroke of his paint brush covers the splintered wood I watch the snow colored paint fall to the grass then I hear it. One of my favorite sounds, the sound of locust beatles chirping. As these beatles get ready for night the send loud chirping alerts to one another. It is almost as if this loud calling tells the sun she has done her job for the day and she sinks into the horizon. I look up to see some of the last beams of pink and yellow ligh fading behind the trees. The beatles harmony last until the last light has disappeared. The sun has closed her eyes for the night and I have spent another busy day with my dad. Now that I am older I often close my eyes and imagine these beatles chirping. Its rythm sends a sense of home and tranquility over me. Although it has been years since I have heard this sound sometime when the sun setting the harmony comes from my memory and brings a smile to my face.