The World As It Is ; m.c.

Moving.

Beginning

noun

1. the point in time or space at which something starts.

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A young girl sat on her back porch, she had a small ball in her hand and was absently bouncing it up and down. She was watching the people move in to the house next to her. It was one of those nice days, where the sky is that nice colour of blue.

She could barely see the moving people bringing in boxes and furniture into the house over the large brown fence that separated the new people's yard from her own. She stood up from her small porch, neglecting her small ball in the rarely cut grass to observe the new people from a better angle.

The little girl walked over to the odd oak tree that blocked the way of the nice brown fence and began to climb, her little hands clutching the rough bark. She reached the branch that she always sat on, brushing off the small ants before she sat down to watch the people next door from her new angle.

There was a little boy sitting in the backyard. The little girl in the tree looked down on him oddly, the family next door was far more interesting than whatever she would have been doing today instead.

The little boy looked around his backyard, there was a little swing set that the family from before had left behind when they had moved out. He looked at the fence that separated his yard from the other houses. There was a large tree that came in the way of the fence that separated the little girl's yard from his.

There was also a girl in the tree, watching him. The little boy who had just moved in, walked over to the base of the tree, staring up at the curious girl.

"Hi," the boy greeted, looking up at the girl perched in the branches.

"Hi, are you new?" The girl asked, looking down at him.

"Yeah."

"Do you want to come up?" She asked. The boy nodded and found a way to climb up the tree, the girl shifted over so the boy could sit next to her on her branch.

"Wow," the boy gasped, looking at his house and all the other houses. It seemed to him like he could see everything from here, of course he couldn't, but he was a little kid and the world is so amazing and beautiful when you're a little kid.

"I like it up here," the girl told him, "I'm Sophia. What's your name?"

"Michael," the boy answered, smiling at the girl sitting next to him.

The two kids sat on the branch in that tree that separated their two houses from each other. They were both so curious, as little kids are, asking questions about the other. The young boy talked about where he had moved from, his best friends he'd left behind and about the field that was behind his house that he used to play in.

The girl talked about her town, about the park that was down the street and about the school she was going to go to in the fall. It got darker as they talked, the sun began to set and the day became the night.

It was the beginning of friends, the two of them sitting in that tree watching as Michael's parents finished moving all their possessions into their new house. Michael's dad came out from the house and called him down from the tree and Sophia's mom called her in for dinner. They said bye, but it wasn't much of a bye. As I said, it was only the beginning of friends.