Mount Holyoke Supplemental Essay

I once stood in a bright summer day, watching the yolky sun dipped in the golden horizon, leaving vermilion scratches of flame on the sky. I closed my eyes, feeling a fresh, pleasant breeze kissing my eyelids. The air infused the sweet scent of the blushing lotus with a slightly pungent taste of the nearby green meadow. My childhood entwined days of wild adventures into the boundless extent of a motherly nature.

I lived nearby a lake and a park until sixth grade. Ever since my family moved out, I could hardly find any similar earnest attachment to the natural world. I first learned colors by recognizing flowers. I also affirmed my supernatural power that whenever I sang, the winds would whisper through the waves of trees. I dreamt of the winds, messengers of Mother Earth, carrying me onto the cotton white clouds, and I would leap from billow to billow everyday. I reminisced the harmony, like a covenant, teaching me through long, silent talks to nature. I never thought I belonged to the worldly earth but to somewhere fantastical. The relationship was rather spiritual, for I still kept the habit of conjecturing God’s emotions from the surroundings. I guess the development of industrialization is progressively inevitable, but, somehow, I yearn for a free return to the days when I could take a long run, with arms wide stretched, like I was to embrace the earth tightly to my bosom.