Assignment 4

Our paddles clang the metal sides

Turning the canoe into kettle drums

Until we rest our arms and glide

And note how canoe and water hum.

5

The sheet music we follow is the moon

That shines our path on the lake.

We listen to our booming tune,

The music a canoe makes.

The moon strikes the other shore.

10

We aim our prow1 for that silver spot,

Paddling so hard with wooden oars

That we make the water shout.

Clangs, splashes, and shouts—our chorus

The rhythm of canoe and water—our band

15

The finale waits on the shore before us

As we land in rasping sand.

Another light draws our feet

A campfire crackles in a crowd,

But still in our hearts we hear the beat

20

Of our canoe’s music thrumming loud.

Our friends clap for our performance

We played our instrument with no flaws

These friends have been our audience,

And we bow to their applause.

The finale waits on the shore before us

But still in our hearts we hear the beat

Of our canoe’s music thrumming loud.

Turning the canoe into kettle drums

Our friends clap for our performance

1

I’d give anything to draw horses the way Euphemia Tucker does. They’re always running wild and free, their manes swirling over her paper like clouds across the sky.

2

Euphemia’s horses look so real you can almost feel their breath on your face.

3

Luke Anderson, who sits next to me, says he can’t decide whether my horses look more like Great Danes or kitchen tables. He also calls me Messy. I prefer Marisa, which is my real name, to Missy, which is what everyone, except Luke, calls me. If I could draw like Euphemia, I’d sign all my pictures  Marisa. Nobody messes with Euphemia’s name, not even Luke Anderson.

4

Today I sharpened my pencil and took a clean sheet of paper out of my desk. I closed my eyes and pictured one of Euphemia’s perfect horses rearing up and pawing the air with its sharp hooves. I could see it so clearly I was sure I’d be able to draw it this time.

5

I started with what I do best: a big, billowing mane. Next I roughed in most of the body and drew a long tail streaming out behind. It really wasn’t turning out half bad until I got to the front-legs-pawing-the-air part, which looked more like two macaroni noodles with tiny marshmallows for hooves.

6

I tried again, but the hooves still didn’t seem right, and rather than doing them over and over, I erased them and went on to the head. That was when I really ran into trouble.

7

First I drew some great donkey ears, followed by sheep ears, pig ears, kangaroo ears, everything except horse ears. I erased again and again until I had rubbed a hole in the paper. That was when Luke Anderson poked his nose over my shoulder.

8

“Hey, Messy,” he said. “What are you drawing? It looks like a  T. rex with a mohawk.”

9

I scratched a big X through my earless, macaroni-legged horse, wadded it up into a little ball, and stuffed it under the lid of my desk.

10

I was still upset when I got off the school bus this afternoon. I walked past the neighbors’ horses standing in the field next to our house. They’ve been in the field for as long as I can remember.

11

I brooded about it all through dinner. After I’d helped clear the dishes, I sat down with a stack of typing paper and a freshly sharpened pencil. Without Luke Anderson there to pester me, I hoped I’d have better luck. I practiced a few horses’ heads, trying to get the ears right. Then my mother walked by, carrying a basket of laundry.

12

“Nice dogs, Missy,” she said. “Is that one a German shepherd?”

13

I just put my pencil down on the table, and walked outside. The sun had just sunk below the horizon, feathering the whole sky with pink and orange wisps. Everything looked special in that light, even the horses next door.

14

I dragged a lawn chair over to the fence and sat down to take a better look at them. They’d never be free spirits like Euphemia’s horses, but they did seem patient and strong. I noticed the curves of their muscles, the shadows on their faces, the shine along their backs. Their colors reminded me of dessert: rich chocolate, deep cinnamon, creamy caramel.

15

I was just sitting there, feeling kind of dazzled by the unexpected beauty of it all, when I remembered the big box of pastels my grandmother had sent for my birthday.

16

“For Marisa,” the card had said, “because she is such a bright and colorful person.”

17

I hurried into the house, grabbed the pastels and some paper, and raced for the door.

18

“Whoa, there, Missy,” my dad said. “What’s the rush?”

19

“Gotta run,” I explained. “The sun is going down!”

20

I choose a deep brown, pulling it across my paper in the shape of the chocolate horse. It comes out right the first time, even the legs and ears! Drawing horses is easier when they’re right in front of you, and I’ll say this for the ones next door—they hold their poses.

21

The sky is turning out just as I’d hoped, too; all the pinks and reds blending together like a strawberry parfait, and I love the way the caramel horse’s mane is blowing, just barely, in the wind.

22

It doesn’t look exactly like one of Euphemia’s horses, of course, but I already know that when this drawing is finished, I’ll be signing it  Marisa.

They’re always running wild and free, their manes swirling over her paper like clouds across the sky.

They’re always running wild and free, their manes swirling over her paper like clouds across the sky.

I brooded about it all through dinner.

Without Luke Anderson there to pester me, I’d have better luck.

I closed my eyes and pictured one of Euphemia’s perfect horses rearing up and pawing the air with its sharp hooves.

Today I sharpened my pencil and took a clean sheet of paper out of my desk.

Next I roughed in most of the body and drew a long tail streaming out behind.