"Ms. Johnson, does this make sense?"
"What?"
"Can windchimes frolic?"
I look up from the paper I am reading, wondering if I heard her correctly. I start to tell her no, but then remember. My other classes may be working on research papers and arguments, but Creative Writing is working on poetry. I smile.
"The windchimes frolicked," I say, testing the sound, "Well, technically it doesn't make sense for windchimes to frolic, but the nice thing about poetry is you can play with language and meaning. What are you trying to say?"
"Well, I wanted to have them dancing, but I liked how frolicked sounded."
"Then use frolic. I like how it sounds too."
She beams at me and returns to her poem. I pull my notebook over and jot down the phrase. I want to save it for later.
