Sanford Inscape 2023

sunny hills literary magazine

head editor

finleyanderson

victoriaaubain sarahcasarino

oliviagarcia-chope

carysgriffiths

adahenry

mollyloughlin

jennymunis

graceporter

cat shapiro clairesuto

faculty advisor

As edi t or s of I nscape, we l ook t owar ds t he f ut ur e wi t h opt i mi sm i ndi vi dual l y, gl obal l y, and f or our communi t y. However , we al so f eel i t i s par amount t o l i ve i n t he pr esent and t o honor each vent ur e i n l i f e wi t h gr at i t ude and cont ent ment . So f or 2023 I nscape magazi ne we ar e pl eased t o pr esent a col l ect i on of cycl es t o r epr esent one' s l i f e: descent , r ebi r t h, and sol st i ce. Thr ough t he ski l l f ul wor k of our communi t y member s, i nscr i bed i n t he pages ar e sadness, gr i ef , and l onel i ness; but al so hope and j oy.

Thi s i ssue ser ves as a r emi nder t hat each cycl e i s j ust t hat ; a t i me, a memor y, or an echo of who we once wer e. As such, t hese t i mes do not def i ne us but t each us l essons t o f ur t her our i ndi vi dual i t y and r espect f or our sel ves and t he communi t y.

Ever y submi ssi on, whet her anonymous or not , has made a pr of ound i mpact on t he edi t or i al t eam. The aut hor s gr aci ousl y shar ed somet hi ng deepl y per sonal : t hei r cr eat i ve endeavor s f or us as a t eam and f or t he et er nal wor l d of pr i nt . We ar e gr at ef ul f or t hei r wi l l i ngness and t hei r shar ed l ove f or ar t and wr i t i ng.

Pl ease enj oy t he 2023 i ssue of I nscape

Li t er ar y Magazi ne.

lovingandhatingblueberries

descent

amorningat gunpowder

-lucasdevinney

Whymust youdosuchathing

Livingyour lifewithnoregard

Throwingawayyour future

Withlesscaresthanagourd

Your mindisfrayingfromabuse

Brought uponbyyour own self need

It cannot all beblamedonyou

For humanheartsarefilledwithgreed

Theworlddespairsasit looksuponyou

Layingyour trashon thehearth

Asyouspreaddecayfromthemoment of birth

Withnoregardfor theEarth

aletter tothepeoplewho just kept walking

I?mwonderingwhyyoujust kept walking Whywhenyousaw them,youdidn? t reallyseethem Asworthyof help,or warmth,or even eyecontact. whyyouwereabletopassbyandmoveon withyour day;togohavelunch,gotowork, seeyour familywithout stopping toat least ask if shewasok.

Whyyoucouldjust trudgeforwardafter passing someonesoyoung,andcold,andalone sleepingon theconcrete. Andmaybeyoudidn? t just continueon.

Maybeyoustill think about theher andregret Maybeyouaren? t theonlyonebecause I kept walkingtoo AndI?mstill wonderingwhy

everlastingyouth

Intheolddays,wewereyoungforever

Our carelessnessmadeeverydayanadventure,everydayseemedlikeit wouldnever end

LadyLiberty?storchburnedbright onour smilingfaces,blinkingaswestaredintothe sun

But that wasadifferent time,atimeof rebellion

Not anymore

Now thereareonlyshadows,andLibertyweepsfor warmth

Her torchhasburnedout,andthesun now hurtsour eyes

Weleapt for themoon,but now wecannot even reachthestars,muchlessfindour

Neverland

Howling,aching,burning,our bodiescontort andtwist intotheir grown upforms

Asdoour minds

What dowehavetogain?

Nowisdom.Noenergy.Noinnocence.

Against our will,knowledgeseepsintoour growingbrainsaswebegfor it tostop,tolet usreturntothewisdomof youth

It will not

Somewhere,betweenthedawn andthesunset,between thedaysandtheweeks,between theyearsandthemonths,theunthinkablehappened

Wegrew up

broken glass

Themist rolledover thesea,creatingahazethat coveredthenearbysleeping town of Lanna.Thetourist seasonhadendedmonthsago,andaswinter sunk its clawsin deeper,fewer lightscameon,andfewer feet disturbedthesandonthe beach.Bythetimemid-Januaryarrived,thetown waspracticallyemptyexcept for Agnes.

Thisemptyfeelingwasaconstant for Agnes,similar totheachein her left knee. Most of thetime,shecouldpretendthesepeskyfeelingsaway,but disappointingly,todaywasnot oneof thosedays.

WalkingtowardthebeachAgnesmadesuretograbher sunglassesandwinter coat Shewasnot particularlyexcitedfor thiswalk - thecoldmist wouldcauseher hair tofrizz.Agneshaddoneher best towrapher hair inascarf toprevent herself fromlookingtoounseemly,but sheworriedtheeffort wouldbefor nothing. Agnesdid,however,holdout hopethat shewouldseesomefishor acrab- really anysort of other livingcreature,but preferablyafish.Agneslovedfish.Sheloved how theylooked,how theyswam,andsheespeciallylovedhow theyalwaysstayed together in aprotectiveschool,makingsureeveryonewassafe.

EventuallyasAgnesmovedfurther alongtheshore,shesadlyconcludedthat therewasnoneedfor her sunglasses- thecloudsseemeddeterminedtokeepthe light andwarmthof thesunhiddenfromher andthat therewerenofish.Even thebluewater washidingaway,havingbeenreplacedbyagrayish-brownslush that promisedonlyemptiness.Withnothingtolook at,Agnes?smindbeganto wander,andsoonshewasrememberingher childhoodhere.

Sherememberedthebeachsobeautifully,thebright colorsof theumbrellas,the bright sunshiningdownonher,laughingfriendsandfamily,andglasssoda bottles.Thechangefromglasssodabottlestosodacanswasonethat bothered Agnesconstantlythoughshecouldnot quitefigureout why.Wasit becauseher father hadworkedtomakethosebottles?Becausetheyrepresentedachangeshe couldnot havepredicted?

Agneswasnot sureof theanswer tothisquestion,but shedidknow that it botheredher.Somuchsothat shehadoncearguedthat steppingonglasswould makechildrenstronger,lessweak than theywerenowadays Perhapsit was simplythat when broken,glasswasturnedintosomethingmorebeautiful bythe

waves.Thecansstayedugly.

Thebeachhadbeensuchafondplacefor Agnesthat shehaddecidedtomovethere.She hadthought it wouldbringfriendsandfamilylikeit hadwhenshewasachildandthat maybebybeingback there,shecouldregainsomeof that elusivejoy.Agnesthought alot about how stupidshewasback then;her familyclearlydidn't love her.Yearsspent caringfor her childrenresultedinnothingbut a birthdaycard,aChristmaswish, andanoccasional photo Thiswas not how familywassupposedto betreated Thethought spiraled inher headuntil shewasso overcomewithemotionthat she wasshaking.

Her handsbecamesohardto control that her sunglasses slippedfromher fingersontothe sand,andAgnessteppedon them. Shecriedat seeingthe rose-coloredpiecesof lens litteringthebeach. Shecriedas shedesperatelytriedtopick up thepieces,but likesomanyother thingsinher life, thedamageshe haddonecouldnot berepaired.

lucey

swisssummer

-finley anderson

love and daisy

Gatsbywantedlove

Without fear

Daisywantedthrill

Andlivedinfear

Gatsbywantedher indefinitely

Daisywasn? t sure

How canlovework without bothsidescommitted?

Intheworldof loveandfear

Theywereboth

Lovemust meet love

Or nothingwill becreated

It will all bedisconnectedfear

Youcannot love

Without lovetoloveyouback

- anonymous

You,Sisyphus,pushingboulders,watchingthemfall

Rollinglikeoceanwaves

Chippingshellsintosand,andawayat your sanity

Slow andmetamorphic, Water dripping,growingstalactitesanderodingcaves

Oroborouseatingitsown tail,andyouswallow down, Your pridesittingheavyinyour stomach.

Areyouhappy?

Theview isverynicefromthetopof themountain

Doyoupause?Canyoutear your eyes

Fromtheboulder tipping

Splinteringonthegroundbelow?

Themonitor stopped Coldandstillnessintheair Left meinthedark

Theheart monitor startedrapidlybeepingashisheart rate plummeted, Hisbreathsjust awhisper,slowlyfading

Theroombareandcold,still,asif thehospital cametoapause

Likeeverythingintheworldstopped,just for amoment

Hispresencenolonger there,hewasgone

left mein thecold stillness - juliet procope

thefeeling of failure

Failureisanemotion that lasts.

Failureislikeafoodthat'sleft abadtasteinyour mouth.

That tasteleavesyouindisgust

But that disgust isonlytemporary.

That tastewill sit there,

andasmuchasI want it togoaway

It doesn't changethefact that it'sstill there.

Maybeif I drink somewater that tastewill begone

But deepdownall I'mthinkingabout ishow badit felt, Tosit thereknowingthat I hadmessedup.

Maybeif I distract myself or trysomethingnew I canforget about it myminddriftsawayfromthethought of that horridtaste,

I never want tofeel that again soI must simplystayawayfromthat food

Failurehasmademeavoidthings. It makesmescaredtotrythemagain.

WhywouldI trysomethingif I didn? t likethat tastethefirst time? - anonymous

i tell

I tell him,for hedoesn't hear

I exclaim again, thewordsswift by hisear

I shout, progressingan eternal doubt

I whisper atremblingsongfrom whereI stand about I panic, for troublehasgazed

I scream,for theconsequential pain

I look down, gazingupon hispalefrown

Thefigureof aman isnow gazingthrough hell and bound

For my father layspaleand red, spillingonto thefarm, coloringthe hay

For my father, hassinned

Killed for someunlawful guilts

I now lay with my fathersbody,assuringhe?sfound hisplace

I tell him onelast time

hopingmy wordsareeffaced

-ryan timmons

him

icarus

Somedaysthere?sjust not muchtosay

Or

Not muchworthsaying.

Thentherearethetimeswhenthingsaretoo muchtosay

I couldsaysomanythingstoyou.

WordsI?dregret.

WordsI wishI said.

You?dtakethemthewrongwayeverytime

Some-daysI wonder if I?mtheonewho?s wrong.

Andyouareright.

AndI amwrong

Andheisnot what I think.

But I?mcursedtologic.

Cursedtoimpossiblytrytokeepeveryone happy

EvenwhenI?drather seehimfar,far awayfrom you.

I hope

Witheverydoubtingboneleft inmybody

That youwill return

Andsay

That wewereright

I don? t want towatchyoufall,

But...

I wonder

If it istheonlywayfor youtoever learna little

I amcruel for that,I know.

Call metheclouds

AsI watchwhat youbelieveisyour

wakingsun

Burnyour defenses

Your preciouswings

That youonlygot recently.

How I wish

Youcouldlook meintheeyes

Andunderstandmyemotions

Not just mywords

BecauseI,

For all I cantry,

Will never beabletoshow youhow much

I want youtobe

Safe

Happy.

Heisnot happy Heisahigh

Hehasyoutricked.

Toyou,

Hegivesyouall youwant

Heshowsyoutheworld

Likelookingthrough

A pair of polarizedsunglasses.

Heshowsyouthebest sideof him, safely.

Whilewehavetowatch

You

Burn.

Icarus, Mydear, I havetriedtoshow youthe damage.

I havetried

Toshow youwhat your precious wingsarebecoming

Youcannot see.

Bychoiceor truth

I will never know.

But please, Mydear Icarus,

If I cannot stopyour fall

At least holdmyhandontheway down. - emecummins

portrait -jamestrask

you aresafe

Tobeachildscaredof themonster under thebed

Scaredof themonster hidingbehindthecloset door

Whenreal oneslurk in thedaylight

Real oneslurk in coffeeshopsandschools

Tobeachildblissfullyignorant of theworldaroundyou

TobelievelieslikeSantaisreal,theworld

Isahappyplaceandparentskeepyousafe

Tobeachildtobelievewewill befine

Thentowakeuponedayscaredof themonster

Torealizeyouarenot safe,tounderstandacar

Ismoredangerousthanawitch

That worldhasnever beenahappyplace

Toperceiveall theliesyouhavetoldandthat otherstell

Andrepeat,repeat until youcannolonger remember

What isalieandtotell thoseliesagaintoyour child

Whowokeupscaredof themonster under thebed

- siobhan lucey

It iswhenI stepintoaforest that I wonder if mother natureandNarcissuswereoneandthesame.

I trulybelievethereisnowaythat somethingsobeautiful can't beappreciated, evenbytheyoungest of eyes

Thereisnosuchthingascarnageor anger within thehiddencanopiesof aforest Or thestowed-awaypeeksof mountaintops

Thereisnosuchthingasuglinesswhentheworldoncelookedat herself

Thebeautyof northwesternevergreensengrossedinmoss

deepgreensandbrowns,dampbut never cold,pull youcloser.

Thesimplicityof iced-over waterfallsinthenorth

Frozenandglistening,quietlycallingfor youtotouchburningcoldcrustsonan iced-over lake.

Theeleganceof southernoaksdrapedinSpanishmoss, likewovenblanketsfrommother natureherself tokeepthetreessafeandwarminher womb

Theshiningbeachesof our coasts,coatedinsandgolder thanthesun

Whichfadestosparklingsilver inthemoonlight.

Yet throughall thisbeauty,we'vebuilt 8-lanehighways

an odetothebeauty which wehavekilled

andcarcasspitstodumptheanimalswhichfall victimtothestreets

We'vecoatedthecool mossandglisteningsandsinthick layersof concrete, likebandagesdressingthewoundswhichweourselvesinflict uponher.

Webuildmini-martsandwarehousestostoretheuselessobjectsderivedfrommaterialswhichwehave strippedrecklesslyfromour earthwhichhasdonenothingbut give.

Wepollutetheskyandtheair withthefuel fromour carsandour planes

All inanattempt toseetheremainingbeautieswhichwehaveyet todestroy. Now whenmother naturelooksat her reflection shemust seeonlyher mistakes intrustinguswithatreasuresoirreplaceableandsooftenoverlooked

- avabrooks

apocalypse

Mydreamwasaswirlingmassof colors,abright hallucinationof shapesandsticksandskinnylines

It took metoaplacewheretheswirlingcolorswerenolonger,toaplacewheretheworldwascrying.

Dyingchildrenbeckonedtome,beggingfor food,water,scrapsof clothestoprotect themfromthebitter cold, their parentswatchingmewithwaryeyes.

I traveledthroughnightmarelands,throughwar andfamineandnatural disaster.

I kept going,makingmywaydownanever-endingroadof suffering,aplacewherecomfort couldnever exist.

I saw peoplesurvivingall over,peoplegoingthroughthemotions,emptyshellsof soldiersandcivilians, of leadersandrulersandofficials

Insidemydream,theworldwasabroken,emptysphere,aplacewhereeverybadthinghadtakenover. b & w

Disease,hunger,climatechange.Hurricanes,tornados,wildfiresand floods.

Diseaseravishedtheland,killingoff thosewhoweren? t already dead,thosewhohadtriedtofight toseemore. All aroundme,theworldwasdying. It wastheapocalypseinreal life.Minusthezombiesor thealiens.

It seemedasthoughpeoplewererunningfor their liveswhilebeing forcedtostayput, hamstersinthelittlehamster balls,stuck insidetheir wirecages.

Thepeopleknew that thiswastheend.But theyweren? t sador scared,just resignedtothefateof everything.

Thedreamlastedminutes,or maybehours.Whoknows?

It?simpossibletotell when you?restuck intheshadowylandscapeof adream

After everythingthat I hadseen,thehorrorsthat hadfollowedme inthecolorful,swirlingland,I wokeup

Back intotheapocalypse

rebirth

invisibility

WhenI wassix,I learnedthat youcan bealonewithout beinglonely, andlonelywithout being alone.

At seven,I wrotestorieswiththewordsthat hadbeentrappedinsidefor toolongalready, spillingmysecretsintowornjournalsandlittle-girl diaries, myclumsyattemptsat proseandpoetrysettingmefree

BythetimeI waseight,I wassurethat theuniversewasinfinite. I felt likeI heldthesecretsof itsterrifyingvastnessinsidemytinyhands, graspingtheendlessknowledgeinmychubby,childishfingers

Onmytenthbirthday,I wroteangrywordsin mypink andgreendiary, claimingthat I was?eight plustwo?andnot ten, afraidof what doubledigitswouldbringfor me

Onmylast full dayof beingtwelve,I got soapy,stingyshampooin myeye, andreadabook meant for littlekids, anddreamedof beingabletoget an Instagramaccount

WhenI wasthirteen,I wrotestoriesthat took uppagesinmycomputer andin myheart, seemingsurethat I wastheonlyonewho?dever felt quitesolost at suchayoungage, nolonger sureif I heldthekeytotheuniverse

AndalthoughI still wasn? t sureabout thesecretsof theuniversewhenI turnedfourteen, I grew torealizethat I didn? t needtospendeverymoment of todaythinkingabout tomorrow,

toembracethelifeI wasliving,not theonethat I wouldbeoneday.

SomaybewhenI turn fifteen,I can spill myfeelingstohumansinsteadof paper, I canholdthemysteriesof theuniversein mymoregrown-uphands, andlearntolet peoplenoticemefor whoI reallyam.

inscapeart & writngawardswinner first place:writing

lovingand hating blueberries

Peopleareblueberriesinthebluebox that youget at thefarmersmarket, sittingcollectively Theytumblearoundthecratedelicately,someouter skinssofter thanthenext.Whenonebreaks, it?samess,thejuicespillingeverywhere

Peoplearelikethesquishyblueberries, onceyouget toknow them.Somearedeceiving. Their skinwill appear soperfect,but oncetheyburst, Theymakeamess,their juicesspillingeverywhere.Ontoyou. Suddenlyyoufeel theburdenof their pain,their bleeding. Peoplearedelicate,littleblueberries

I loveblueberries.I hatethem.

I lovemyfriendsandfamilysurroundingme. I,likeablueberry,wouldbleedfor them. But there?salwaysonebadberry. Their bleedingismybleeding I lovethem, but I hatewhat they?vedonetome. I bleedwiththem.I cleanupthemessthey?vemade. Bothjuicesspilledeverywhere. I loveandhateblueberries.

I wouldliketoknow afew things.

Whoareyou?

toaperson who isalsoapoem

Don? t start talkingabout feet beatingagainst theground or of earsthat canhear thefaintest of sounds.

Show meyour exclamationmarksandperiods.I know youhavehiddenthem somewhere.

I bet theyarehiddeninthedark,well-concealedareasintheback of your mind. If oneweretoknow thetruthabout thosedark areas, youwouldloseeverythingyouknow andhavetolive amongthepeoplethat youhavefailedtoforgive.

Luckily,nooneisbright enoughtohaveaclear view of your mind.

That'scorrect,right?

I havegivenyouall of thepraise andsupport, youcouldever need

Andsincethen,sharpsentenceshavebecome harshoutbursts. Why?

Whydoyouact in thismanner?

Youwritealot about problems. I'mshockedthat youcannot facethem.

theweasel table

At seven yearsold, an old tablewith screw-on legswasthebaneof my existence Every fourth Thursday of November, my grandfather and father hoisted that dreadful gray tabletop and its respective metal pegs from the corner of my grandparents?basement. I was torn. While I watched my uncle assemble the awful thing, I could almost taste the turkey whose mouth-watering aroma wafted into the dining room. While I was utterly in love with Thanksgiving and everything that came with it, fantastic food and long overdue visits with extended family, I wasconstantly reminded of my youngagewhenever the?weasel table?made anappearance.

Thisdidn? t only occur duringThanksgiving, either. Christmasand my grandmother?sbirthday wereclear indicationsthat theweasel tablewouldmakeitsdisplay Myfather?ssideof thefamily is 15 people, and with random guests a possibility, that number could grow to 20 people at holiday dinners Thehugediningroom seatsnearly everyonesqueezed around theoval-shaped table. Even with the large table, my two little cousins, my younger sister, and I remained seatless. To combat the lack of seating, my father and uncle set up the square table in a completely different room Away from the pleasant sound of champagne flute clinks Away from the delicate pewter candlestick holders. Away from the adult conversation, something seven-year-oldmelongedtopartakein.

At the adult table, my parents, uncles, and auntsshared storiesfrom their adolescence. Their

eyes twinkled as they conversed over flavorful cranberry sauce and delicious sweet potato casserole. I remember staring at my four-year-old cousin playing with thelast of her peaswhen myfather?siconiclaugh echoedfromthediningroom.What weretheytalkingabout aroundthat hugeoval table?I wastheoldest cousin at theweasel table,soI felt toooldtosit at that excusefor a Thanksgiving table. While my little cousins were talking about American Girl dollsand the Tooth Fairy, I must have thought my parents were engaged in the most stimulating conversation ever over Thanksgiving dinner. I knew that asI grew older, maybeat 13yearsold, I wouldbeableto squeezearoundtheoval table, much likemycousinsfiveor six yearsolder than me.I couldn? t wait.

Sure enough, six years passed. Six years of growing too big to fit my knees under that gray tabletop Six yearsof attemptingto catch glimpsesof what wassaidat theadult tablewhenever I refilled my plate. I was finally able to sit at the adult table. The chairs were antique Windsor chairs, each donning its fall-patterned cushion--much more comfortable than the brassfolding chairsthat accompanied theweasel table. ThesignatureThanksgiving disheswereconveniently

through thefoliage-finley anderson

located before me rather than a walk down the hall. Chatter about nothing in particular surroundedme. From oneendof thetable, it waspoliticsandmy oldest cousin?sbroken thumb. On theother, it wastalesof thedifficultiesfindingpietins. Underneath thepristinecover of the tablecloth,mylegsswungwithelation.I dugintomyplate,listeningattentivelytoeverythingmy relatives said My older cousins offered insight into my upcoming high school years My grandmother toldstoriesabout mydadasateenager. By theendof themeal, my stomach ached, not only becauseI stuffed myself with deliciousfood but also becauseI waslaughingnonstop as myfamilycrackedjokeafter joke

I lovedspendingtimeat theadult table, andI still do I misstheweasel table, though I missthe innocenceand childish charm of that once-dreadedtablewith metal peglegs. At that littletable, therewasno pressureto speak with alargevocabulary or understand thepolitical statusof our

country. For somereason, I believed that achangein seatingwould automatically mean I was mature. In reality, I was still a young kid sitting in a bigger chair at a bigger table. While conversingwith myadult relativeswasalwaysenjoyable, it wasn? t everythingI hadimagined.I spent yearsyearningfor meaningful, ?adult?conversations, but I didn? t realizehow much fun I hadwhileat thechildren?stable Mycousinscouldn't offer valuableadviceon choosingafuture career,but wewent intohystericsafter arguingover whothebest Disneyprincewas.Now,my entryintoadulthoodisapproachingquickly. I am submittingcollegeapplicationsandchecking senior year eventsoff thelist I couldnot bemoreexcitedabout growingupandmyfuture,but a part of me will always want to hold onto my younger years. A part of me will always be sittinginabrassfoldingchair at that tablewithscrew-on legs.

-paidyn moore

Theworlddoesnot revolvearoundus

It isnot inour favor

It isinnoone?sfavor

Thereispain,suffering,hunger,fear,anddeath.

Therearenew struggleseveryday.

Therearenew endseveryday

Theworldwill still not beinour favor that wouldjust betoomanypeople.

But therearealsonew beginningseveryday.

Therearenew lessonstolearn

Thereislove,care,joy,andgoalstogiven andevenwithall thetroublesweface

It isuptoustomakethebest out of our lives

Lifeisaseriesof compoundfunctions, eachsimpleerror onebuildingupon thenext likeatower of teeteringblocksreadyto collapse

Yet,somepermit thisinaccuracytobefact; somechoosefor it tobethetruth

I hateapproximations. Thewillingnesstostack thetower higher, theacceptanceof risk,ignorant of concrete fact.

Frequently,I hateapprominations

A structureof theoremsbuilt upon axioms, crushedunder thecarelessnessof guessing. Thecarelessnessof saying?goodenough? But someexist without atheorem,without a proof, not of natureordinaryor partial,only

inscapeart & writngawardswinner secondplace:writing

aloathingof approximations

untitled - jack lazarski

inscapeart & writngawardswinner

secondplace:art

numerical withaneternitysubjectedtoapproximations.

Here,I cryout for anever desiredactuality

AsI stare,arealization happensupon me. I hateapproximations,not for inaccuracy, nor for thedisregardtheyshow totheorems, I hateapproximationsbecausetheylack asoul Inspirationandadaptationsucked, drawnfromavessel socomplexlysimple

-daniel brake

still life

1. A treeisimmobile.It growsalittleeveryyear.

2. It enduresthecoldwinters,therainysprings,

3. Thehot summers,andthewindyfalls,yet it still standsthere

4. Withnoimpact ontheworld.Other treesmaygrow around

5. Thisone,either impactingthetree?sdevelopment,or it sways

6. Inthewindbesideit.Theygrow littlebylittleeveryyear

7. Swayinginthewind,yet that onetreemakesnoimpact

8. Onitssurroundings,or theworld.Astimepasses

9. Byandthetreekeepsgrowingandagingit isstill immobile.

10.Soonthebranchesgrow tobig,thebodytoowide,

11.Andit isunabletoswayasgood,but it isstill there.

12.Eventuallythetreegetstooold,toobig,andtooweak

13. Andthetreefallsover.Finallyin itslast moments

14.It isabletomove.It finallyisabletomakeanimpact on itsworldandothers aroundit.

solstice

blissful spring

Oneof thehappiest,most belovedseasonsof themall.

Weather isnice,feelingthefirst dropof sweat roll downyour back

Whilethewindblowssendingashiver down your spine. A seasonfilledwithgentlerainshowersandatimefor ?smelling theroses? ,

Totakeinthebeautyof theworld.

Thebloomingof flowersanddormant plants, All beginningtogrow again.

Bright light shiningintoilluminate Andtobrighten one?sworld.

Thewindwhistlingandfollowingbirds?wings That danceswithpetalsflyingintheskies.

Foggymorningsthat bringback theright sideof humid Andtheleavesthat gaintheir greenback.

Children playinginthepuddlesandrunningaroundunder the soft sunlight;

Thewarmthlost inthelast seasonisfinallycomingback.

Variousemotionsemergingfromtheseason that is Oneof thehappiest,most belovedof themall

scotland- chloesteiner

anew nature

Theuntroubledgrasssoftlyrubsagainst mylegs. A freshbreezerusheswithexcitement.

Treesstandtall watchingover me.

Theworldisat last at peace.

Beesbuzzinadistance, Singingtheir littlesong

Theskybluer thanbefore, It watchesdown asthecloudscontinuetorise

Thetreesdance, Theyhadnever dancedbefore

Aloneat last,I think tomyself.

Except that isn? t thecase.

I amnot bymyself,

For all natureisbymyside.

-stellaadamopulous

ever sograteful of my life

I amever sograteful for twolovingparents

I amever sothankful for their re-assurance

I amever sohappyfor groupsof caringfriends

I amever soappreciativeof how their kindnessextends

I amever sodelightedfor agreat education

I amever sopleasedfor itsinformation

I amever sorelievedfor aroof over myhead

I amever soecstaticfor it protectingmynicewarmbed

I amever sosatisfiedfor theopportunitiesgiventome

I amever sodelightedthat myparentscanaffordthem,cause theysurearen? t free

I amever sojoyful for thekindnessof others

I amever socheerful becausesomeof themfeel likebrothers

I amever sofortunatetohavebeenblessedwithall these things

I amever sosympathetictothosewhoarenot ableto experiencewhat mylifebrings

I amever sosadfor thosewhocan? t enjoysimplepleasures

I amever sounhappyfor what lifehasbrought for peoplein terriblemeasures

how dopeoplepredict the weather

How istheweather appalwaysright?

Technically,isn? t that predictingthefuture?

Yes,thereareanswersandreasons

But gettingit exact throughall theseasons?

Duringsummer,spring,winter andfall

Theweather apppredictsit all?

Isit magic?Or science?Or logic?

But maybenoneat all

When theleavesarestartingtofall

Andthebirdsstart tocall

How istheweather perfect throughit all?

Wakingupinthemorningknowingwhat towear

Toseehow theweather isquitebare

How doesonepredict theweather?

untitled -jack lazarski

themystery of jamesmarks

HelenandJanesat together intheBottleGrounds Bar when Helennoticedsomethingoff Helen,a singlemother of twokids,goeswithher best friend Janetobarsoften.However that night,Janehadnot bought asingledrink.

? I havebadnews,?Janesaidnervouslyasshe squirmedin her seat ?I?mpregnant withAdam?s kid,?shesaidquietlyandquickly.

Helendidn? t know how torespond,sinceAdamand Janehadbrokenupjust afew weeksago.Helenand her latehusband,James,hadbeenveryhappy together until Jamesdiedworkingacaseayear ago Ever sinceJameshaddied,Helenhadbeenonher own withher twokids,JoshandEmma.Shecould still seeher husbandinher elevenyear old daughter'sskin,shehadbeautifullyfreckled,tan skin.Jameshadworkedasadetectiveever since Helenknew him,andwasworkingonavery secretivecasebeforehedied BeforeJameshaddied onthejob,Helennoticedachangein him,and askedhimtoquit.TothisdayHelencarriestheguilt of their last conversationbeinganargument about work

?Haveyoutoldhimyet??Helenrepliedafter a

long,uncomfortablepause.Theroomsuddenlyfelt quiet,almost tooquiet,likeeveryonewas listeningtothemtalking

?Yes,?Janeansweredshortly,?Hedidn? t care,?tearsformedinher eyesat thethought of raisingher kidsalone Helenhadnever experiencedthefeelingof beingaloneuntil recently,and didn? t know how tohelpor comfort Jane.

Thenext day,HelenandJanewent for awalk alongtheshore.BothJaneandHelenlivedin beachhousesinVirginia.Astheyslowlywalkedalongthebeach,collectingseashellsasthey went,theycouldsmell thecrispsalt of thewater.Thesmell of theoceanwaspurehappiness,and helpedJanerelaxandrelievestress.JanetoldHelenabout theargument,andthebreak up.Adam didn? t want tobeinthechild?slife,anddidn? t want tobein Jane?s.Thetwotalkedfor hoursabout what Janeshoulddo.

At aroundtwoo?clock,thetwowomenwent separatewaysback totheir houses.Janefelt better andHelenfelt likeshehadsucceededin comfortingher best friend.Until suddenly,she openedher door andthefeelingchanged Somethingabout thewaythehousesmelled,Helen knew somethingwasoff.Thehousefelt almost nostalgic,likeshefelt thepresenceof her oldlife, her happier life.It wasanunsettlingfeeling,andHelenimmediatelyknew somethingwaswrong. Shecalledfor her kidstocomedownstairs,but got noanswer Asshewalkedintothekitchento set downher purse,shesaw himsittingat her kitchen table.

?James??

Theevent that ruinsadayinaninstant Makinglifeharder,harassingall of thesenses. Thedropsmakingyour skin frigid,thewind getsharder tobear,eachdrop obstructing,blurringvision.

Turningvibrant fieldsinto achallenge Mud Walking,running,moving isnolonger anoption.

Theconstant noiseof theweather is,peculiar Manyonlyfindhatein thissound,but who reallyhearstherain?

Perhaps,theonewithnothingtothink about, simplystaringat theweather.Listening totheeachdrophit theground The introspectiveartist,makingnoteof the ambiance.

Theoneasleep,takingadvantage of thisonce-a-season experience. Mellow curiosityallowsthemtonotice thegood Contemplationletsthemsee what raincan dofor them

Spendingjust asecondtoquestiontherain allowsthemtoseewhat it trulyis. Thereisnoreasontobeso impatient withsuchaconcept. Therainwill comedownfromwherewecan? t reach.Fall gracefullydown, andcollect onour surface,wherewecanfinallyconnect withit.

Whenit all lands, thereisaglassysheencreatedbythewater It onlytakestime toseethereflection

thesun and therain

It wasaFridayafternoonin September,asI strolleddown thestreet tomy apartment.It rainedyesterday,but now thesunshonebrightlythroughthe clouds.I woremycrackedrose-tintedsunglassesasI gazedat thevibrant places andcolors.I heardloudexcitedtalkingall throughout town.I admiredthe peopleI saw;Therewasafreckledboylaughingwithhisfriendsin their brightly coloredclothes.Hestumbledonhisfeet,but hisfriendsweretheretocatchhim. Thejoypracticallyradiatedfromtheir smiles.Therewasapuddleof rainfrom thenight beforethat I hadfailedtonotice.I slippedinit andmyglasseswere throwntotheground.Theyshattereduponimpact.Myhandsandkneeswere scratched,andmydark jeansweretorn.Thecomfortingheat of thesunseemed todisappear andtheworldseemedquiet.All thetalkingthat wastherebefore hadfaded.I pulledmysoakedbodyfromthegroundandhurriedhome.Once insidemymustyapartment,I caught aglimpseof myself,andmyself alonein the crackedmirror.Filthymudstainsandpatchescoveredmydull clothes.I laidmy lonelybrokenglasseson mybaretable.Myblank wallstauntedmeasI trudged acrosstheapartment.I sat down bythewindow inmysilent,emptyroom.That iswhenI realizedit hadstartedtorain.

- anonymous

summer breeze

Theoceanspray,coldandblue washingover measI walk thebeachfor seashells. Thefeelingof freedomovercomesmybody,the sandfeelslikehome.

Thewarmsunbeatingonmyskin,I feel safeandcomforted.

Seastarswadingrhythmicallyinthetidepools, jellyfishsneakilybrushacrossyour legs.

Thepowerful wavepullingmedown asI losecontrol of myboard, thealluringarrayof purplesandpinksthat overtaketheskyat dusk. Thebeautyof cominghomeafter alongdayat thebeach, coldwater soothingthesandrash,cleaningmysalt crustedhair. Gettingreadyfor acool summer dinner, thedivineflavor of water icethat I havebeenlongingfor all year.

AsI wakethenext morningtothecrashof thewavesandtheseagullscalling, I feel thebeautyof summer break.

-anonymous

an island in theseaof time

Every day I am reminded of the passage of time. Life continues, the earth spins, spring to winter to spring. My brain acknowledges but shrinks from its inconstant nature, finding relativity and astrophysicsincomprehensible My soul isat peacewith theconstant march of time, with how all must moveforward. Andyet,andyet?

Sometimesit seemstometimebreatheslikean accordion,compressingsunrisetosunset andstretchinga millenniumfromdusk todawn. Other timesI feel liketimeisabullet train inescapablybarrelingtoward me,rushingawaymypast andthrustingmeheadfirst intothefuture. Holdingon totimeisliketryingto graspsand, even if it appearsstablewhen taken secondbysecond. Timeisariver splittingintostreams; while other currentscontinue on, now I feel that time simply eddiesaround me I spend the daysin listlessmelancholy, wastingand losingtime. Outsidemy window, I seethehibiscusunfurl itslargered petals,therosescomeandgo I want tojoin themin time?scurrent,but I don? t I can?t,andI don? t know why. I want timetofreeze. I want timetopushon. Timedoesn? t carewhat I want,soI keepgoing.

Occasionally,I findmyself thinkingback on myyounger days:theonesI regret,theonesI missandthose don?t, and theonesI treasure New Year?sEveisemblematic of thepassageof time? from oneyear to another. Thisdayisespeciallydear tome,for it harborssomeof mymost treasuredmemories.

To me, December 31st means celebrating New Year?s Eve in the family room of my friends, the Greenbergs. All mymemoriesof thefamilyroom oozecozinessandcomfort, relaxation andenjoyment.

It?sthecasual kind of room wherepeoplearenaturally inclined to gather. Even though apandemichas made it so that I have not visited in years, I can still clearly picture it. It sitstowardsthe back of the house, astep or two down from thekitchen that it opensinto, leading into acement patio? whereI?ve

spent many Memorial and Labor Days? next to a small vegetable garden that produces enormous squashes. Thesmell of thekitchen with itsmatzoball soupandgingersnapsisalwayswaftingthrough thefamily room, mixingwith theoccasional woodsmokefrom thefireplace. Warmth spillsout from thehearth and settlesasacomfortablehuddleof chairsand acouch with cushionsthat will lovingly embraceasI put my feet up on thetableandplay my favoritegameson theTV. On theother sideof theroom arethedoorsand openingsthat string thisroom together with theotherslikebeadson a necklace. Thisisalso whereI would add my shoesto apileby thecluttered desk. A soft shag carpet coversthefloor, and thewallshold memorabiliathat my young self would alwaysmarvel at, likethe foldedflagandROCKEM?SOCKEM?ROBOTS

My mind always returns to the family room when I think of New Year?s Eve, my cozy, stableislandamidst theroilingocean of time. My family wouldgather with theGreenbergs andtheir familyor friendsin that warmroom each year. I would alwayssit on the couch (after appreciating the softnessof the carpet, of course) because I was the most interested in New Year?s Rockin?Eve, which would be on in the background? even though the main focus was more on spending time and playing games with everyone. Drawful,MarioKart,Just Dance,andsometriviacardsarethegamesI remember themost. It didn? t even matter that I wasthe only kid there because I have alwaysenjoyed hanging out with adults. I truly adored coming every year, so much so that I never wanted to go to any other party or celebration? even thosehosted by my friends In fact, I even insisted on goingafter wehad spent 10

hoursin thecar for aquick visit to my grandpa Although it?sbeen years, I?m still just asexcited for the next timewecangather.

My family would gather with theGreenbergsand their family or friendsin that warm room each year. I would alwayssit on thecouch (after appreciating thesoftnessof thecarpet, of course) becauseI wasthe most interested in NewYear?sRockin?Eve, which would beon in thebackground? even though themain focuswasmoreonspendingtimeandplayinggameswitheveryone. Drawful,MarioKart,Just Dance,and sometriviacardsarethegamesI remember themost It didn? t even matter that I wastheonly kid there becauseI havealwaysenjoyedhangingout withadults.I trulyadoredcomingeveryyear,somuchsothat I

never wanted to go to any other party or celebration? even thosehosted by my friends In fact, I even insisted on going after wehad spent 10 hoursin thecar for aquick visit to my grandpa. Although it?s beenyears,I?mstill just asexcitedfor thenext timewecangather. Andisn? t that just perfect for time?sparadox? A memoryswept awaybytheflow of time, returnedagain by thesamecurrents. A timethat isyearsin thepast but ascloseto thesoul asmemoriesof yesterday.

Timeislikeasnake, twisting and coilingasit slitherson. And no matter what, I?ll alwaysbealongfor theride - cat shapiro

switzerland on film - finley anderson

It wasswift I think I wouldn? t know I guess,I

Wasintheother room

A scream,acrunch

Mybirdwaslunch

Not adripof blood Just afeather

Andadogfull of bird

full -clairesuto

contributors:

lucasdevinney -clairesuto- zoesymons- siobhan lucey

juliet procope-jenny munis-patrick young-ryan timmons-phoenyx

jamestrask -emecummins-jack lazarski -ashley groomes-avabrooks

emmamartino-nicholasrayos-paidyn moore- aiden abrefa-kodom

orion schussel -chloesteiner - v blondel -oliviaopher - stellaadamopoulos

finley anderson -perrin brown -cat shapiro-maddy wilson