Adelheid West
Bio
Striving to eat well, spend time outside and laugh often.
Follow along at https://www.instagram.com/busyhandshomestead
Stories (15/0)
The Swings
The wind wooshes against her ears, tugs her hair backward, as her feet reach to touch the blue of the sky. She kicks her feet back. Her hair flings forward and she plummets. Her legs stretch out again and her feet are now framed against the green of new grass. With each pass she flies higher. She flies so high that the chain of the swing has a little slack. For just a moment she is weightless before the snap of gravity pulls her back down.
By Adelheid West 6 months ago in Fiction
- Runner-Up in Chapters Challenge
Heimgang Runner-Up in Chapters Challenge
Outside of my front door and across the valley there are three castles each on their own mountain top. I'm living in an old railroad station and the train still runs in front of my house. There is a small road that connects the two closest towns. They are a kilometer in either direction. I am allowed to run all the way to the end of the dirt road where there is a giant buckeye tree. The farmer piles his hay underneath it and when I climb the very top I can almost touch the lowest branches of the tree. There are wheat fields all around my house and I am just tall enough to look over the grass. I love plucking the green and unripe seeds out of the field. They taste sweet. I have a giant backyard and my favorite spot is in the top of the cherry tree that leans just over the fence.
By Adelheid West 7 months ago in Chapters
Remember
0ne step at a time with practiced consistency I can move mountains Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this poem, please consider dropping it a heart, sharing, or reading my first vocal story: Pocket Treasures If you'd like to keep up with my art, urban homestead or family adventures, check out my Instagram account: @busyhandshomestead
By Adelheid West about a year ago in Poets
Capture the Wind
I take a deep breath, wrap my hands around the ball of clay and press down on the pedal. It is late at night or early in the morning, and if I am really fortunate, a daytime visit to the studio. The clay jerks my arms in rhythm with the rotation. My palms press firmly into the top and side surfaces of the clay.
By Adelheid West 3 years ago in Lifehack
The Intersection
She replays the moment over and over. She recognized her father’s truck when she glanced past her best friend and out of the school bus window. She recognized her father. She didn’t recognize the women who turned and leaned toward him. Cat’s head whipped around quickly, to double check, confirm she was mistaken but the vantage had changed and the truck was out of view.
By Adelheid West 3 years ago in Fiction
Permission
“Everyone was perfectly fine with the way things were. Everyone but Mr. Tiger”, I read tracing the words across the page. My other arm wrapped around Sylvan. It is bed time. It could also be nap time, break time, or really any time, because we don’t need an excuse to read this book. It is his favorite. It is my favorite too.
By Adelheid West 3 years ago in Families
