Prewrite+3

In my backyard, by myself, life is the heart of it all. In the spring the garden grows sweet bluebells that look like minuscule grapes. Some have long stems and lots of flowers, others are just short and sweet. Me and my little brothers would often pick some to put in a little bowl on the table. There was also a bush that grew near the side of the house, which we called the snowball bush. What type of flowers were they really? It grew small white flowers in clumps like snowballs. They were soft, and if held in the hand slightly squishy. They wilted quickly, so while they bloomed we would pick the largest bunches and throw them at each other like snowballs in spring. Exhilarating. There were often mourning doves I would hear calling. It was beautiful and soft, ecohing on the deserted black streets. In the summer the bushes near the fence would grow verdant green, perfect for hiding. My favorite spot was at the bottom of the little hill, where I could look out comfortably at everyone and no one could look back at me. In the summer I would often climb the maple tree, and examine the mysterious piece of old rope that was permanently attached to the tree. There was also an old rusted nail, rather grainy to the touch, and difficult to remove. They were never removed, becoming bits of past left for the new owners of the house. Why were they there? In the fall the leaves from the trees would fall gently to the ground, creating a huge pile for me and my brothers to jump in. The leave crumbs would stick to our clothes, and get in our shoes, and get tangled in my hair, so we had to wait outside for our parents to sweep off the leave pieces so the house would stay clean. In winter, the snow would cover everything, and all sound would be absorbed by the fluffy white blanket. I remember one year there was a blizzard-the snow was three feet deep. The snow was so tall, there was only a foot of fence sticking up to separate mine and my neighbors places. I felt like I could just climb over and be in a different world. On the other side of the yard, the large spreading branches of the maple tree prevented most of the snow from reaching the ground, so we swam our way to the bottom of the hill and stood under the sagging branches. Exhausting. They created a kind of roof for the ground, there was barely a foot of snow on the ground here. The bushes were covered in smooth snow, and I felt like I could just walk on top of them and drop down into my other neighbors yard. Being in my place and belonging in this cycle of life - it feels, so good, it feels so good it feels, so good, it feels so good - it feels so good.