WINDHOVER vol 50
CONTENTS
LITERATURE
4
7
Andrew Kearns
54
Joseph Silvers
8
Tyler Collins
64
Tyler Collins
16
Tyler Collins
67
Kaitlin Fritz
20
Vaidehi Patil
70
Samuel Fox
22
Vaidehi Patil
77
Joseph Silvers
26
Darren Lipman
79
Emilie Mathura
29
Annalise Boese
80
Nicholas Casale
38
Tyler Collins
82
Mary Anna Rice
44
Baylis Wallenborn
88
Nathan Forbes
46
Ethan Cole Evans
95
Arlan Wallace
50
Clarissa Rainear
53
Jack Kittrell
VISUAL ART
6
William Lenhardt
52
Katelynn McCorquodale
9
Hal Meeks
55
Jacob Lineberry
10
Jennifer Vaughn
56
Katelyn Auger
11
Téa Blumer
58
Cameren Dolecheck
13
Khushbu Gosai
60
Lydia Kuekes
19
Monica Galletto
61
Emily Parker
20
Julia Conlon
62
Tyler Hayes
24
Austin Caskie
65
Corey Myrick
28
Katelyn Auger
66
Monica Galletto
30
Téa Blumer
68
Jennifer Vaughn
31
Nick Fair
73
Tyler Hayes
32
Khushbu Gosai
74
Katelyn Auger
34
Cameren Dolecheck
76
Jamal Bell
37
Emily Parker
78
Brantley Atkinson
40
Julia Conlon
81
Maria Martinez
42
Scott Reinhard
87
Sadie Red Wing
43
Hal Meeks
89
Nick Fair
45
Megan Bonner
90
Jacob Lineberry
47
Austin Caskie
93
Katelynn McCorquodale
48
Eduardo Talavera
94
Corey Myrick
51
Julia Conlon
96
Maria Martinez
5
CONTENTS
LITERATURE
4
7
Andrew Kearns
54
Joseph Silvers
8
Tyler Collins
64
Tyler Collins
16
Tyler Collins
67
Kaitlin Fritz
20
Vaidehi Patil
70
Samuel Fox
22
Vaidehi Patil
77
Joseph Silvers
26
Darren Lipman
79
Emilie Mathura
29
Annalise Boese
80
Nicholas Casale
38
Tyler Collins
82
Mary Anna Rice
44
Baylis Wallenborn
88
Nathan Forbes
46
Ethan Cole Evans
95
Arlan Wallace
50
Clarissa Rainear
53
Jack Kittrell
VISUAL ART
6
William Lenhardt
52
Katelynn McCorquodale
9
Hal Meeks
55
Jacob Lineberry
10
Jennifer Vaughn
56
Katelyn Auger
11
Téa Blumer
58
Cameren Dolecheck
13
Khushbu Gosai
60
Lydia Kuekes
19
Monica Galletto
61
Emily Parker
20
Julia Conlon
62
Tyler Hayes
24
Austin Caskie
65
Corey Myrick
28
Katelyn Auger
66
Monica Galletto
30
Téa Blumer
68
Jennifer Vaughn
31
Nick Fair
73
Tyler Hayes
32
Khushbu Gosai
74
Katelyn Auger
34
Cameren Dolecheck
76
Jamal Bell
37
Emily Parker
78
Brantley Atkinson
40
Julia Conlon
81
Maria Martinez
42
Scott Reinhard
87
Sadie Red Wing
43
Hal Meeks
89
Nick Fair
45
Megan Bonner
90
Jacob Lineberry
47
Austin Caskie
93
Katelynn McCorquodale
48
Eduardo Talavera
94
Corey Myrick
51
Julia Conlon
96
Maria Martinez
5
WINDHOVER
THE FORGOTTEN
As street-lights glow a false daylight, arc-sodium beneath a star-shrouded sky, all the ghouls come out; lost boys dancing to the sound of a pan-flute.
hungry eyes and hungry hearts– parasites in the night.
VOLUME 50
Wretches, wights, and waifs,
But do not look away. Are they not your children as well?
Andrew Kearns
William Lenhardt
7
WINDHOVER
THE FORGOTTEN
As street-lights glow a false daylight, arc-sodium beneath a star-shrouded sky, all the ghouls come out; lost boys dancing to the sound of a pan-flute.
hungry eyes and hungry hearts– parasites in the night.
VOLUME 50
Wretches, wights, and waifs,
But do not look away. Are they not your children as well?
Andrew Kearns
William Lenhardt
7
WINDHOVER
WOLF
Sing softly, my red robin,
VOLUME 50
skip along the concrete path. Let your melody echo, through the forest of glass, cement, and steel.
Lead me, little bird, with your song and sweet perfume - seasoned flesh, beneath red feathers, awaits my silver claw.
Tyler Collins
Hal Meeks
8
9
WINDHOVER
WOLF
Sing softly, my red robin,
VOLUME 50
skip along the concrete path. Let your melody echo, through the forest of glass, cement, and steel.
Lead me, little bird, with your song and sweet perfume - seasoned flesh, beneath red feathers, awaits my silver claw.
Tyler Collins
Hal Meeks
8
9
VOLUME 50
WINDHOVER
Jennifer Vaughn
VOLUME 50
WINDHOVER
Jennifer Vaughn
VOLUME 50
Khushbu Gosai
12
VOLUME 50
Khushbu Gosai
12
Julia Conlon
Julia Conlon
EPISODE
Knock, Knock Once again it’s at the door insisting to enter. A creature clothed in blue - half cotton, half polyester pestilent messenger of my recurring nightmare. Knock, Knock Its silhouette towers beyond the silver window. Ribs like gnarled claws wrap my narrow torso,
VOLUME 50
cradling the hollow rhythm which keeps this husk alive. Knock, Knock Temptation is its gaze, branched with red rivers, my eyes met with Death’s promise. It calls to me in silence. Knock, Knock Its face twists against the glass, cracked skin across the pane, expression masked, sunken eyes smile mockingly. Its gaze, needle sharp, brings disparity. Click, Click The door creaks open, so it begins. Again, I let him in. I always let him in.
Tyler Collins
16
EPISODE
Knock, Knock Once again it’s at the door insisting to enter. A creature clothed in blue - half cotton, half polyester pestilent messenger of my recurring nightmare. Knock, Knock Its silhouette towers beyond the silver window. Ribs like gnarled claws wrap my narrow torso,
VOLUME 50
cradling the hollow rhythm which keeps this husk alive. Knock, Knock Temptation is its gaze, branched with red rivers, my eyes met with Death’s promise. It calls to me in silence. Knock, Knock Its face twists against the glass, cracked skin across the pane, expression masked, sunken eyes smile mockingly. Its gaze, needle sharp, brings disparity. Click, Click The door creaks open, so it begins. Again, I let him in. I always let him in.
Tyler Collins
16
VOLUME 50
Monica Galletto
19
VOLUME 50
Monica Galletto
19
WINDHOVER
THE TRENDSPOTTER In a world where few had money and most had fame, the popular tabloid’s photographer gathered his tatters and set forth into the brewing rainstorm. He chose a cobbled street within a fortress-converted-to-bazaar, known for the who’s who that walked it. Stormy light created drama in the shifting shad-
VOLUME 50
ows. Statuesque women shopped wearing absurd heels, bizarre ensembles and dabs on the skin that gave them unreal chamfers. Dark clouds coloured everything in bleakness. But not the photographer. He expected luck. If all went well, tomorrow would be another payday after seven months of nothing. He winked at the umbrella seller stationed in the corner diagonally opposite. The seller winked back. When the ex-fashionista walked down the street struggling with her new umbrella, the photographer hid behind a sandstone pillar, poised, hoping the lightning would smother the camera’s flash. The next day under a picture of a woman with blown hair framed by an upturned mauve umbrella, the caption read: Snappy New Headdress. There were many who bought it.
Téa Blumer Vaidehi Patil
20
21
WINDHOVER
THE TRENDSPOTTER In a world where few had money and most had fame, the popular tabloid’s photographer gathered his tatters and set forth into the brewing rainstorm. He chose a cobbled street within a fortress-converted-to-bazaar, known for the who’s who that walked it. Stormy light created drama in the shifting shad-
VOLUME 50
ows. Statuesque women shopped wearing absurd heels, bizarre ensembles and dabs on the skin that gave them unreal chamfers. Dark clouds coloured everything in bleakness. But not the photographer. He expected luck. If all went well, tomorrow would be another payday after seven months of nothing. He winked at the umbrella seller stationed in the corner diagonally opposite. The seller winked back. When the ex-fashionista walked down the street struggling with her new umbrella, the photographer hid behind a sandstone pillar, poised, hoping the lightning would smother the camera’s flash. The next day under a picture of a woman with blown hair framed by an upturned mauve umbrella, the caption read: Snappy New Headdress. There were many who bought it.
Téa Blumer Vaidehi Patil
20
21
MINUS TWENTY IN SIACHEN
It’s minus twenty in Siachen. Plus two here in Delhi. I’m freezing. But Dad, crouching in the Sia La pass in the Himalayas with twenty kilograms on him, isn’t. There’s possibly no chance to. Physics. Fission and fusion ignite my I don’t want to settle under the duvet
imagination. Geography. I try to find Dad,
and sleep. The cold is killing, and sleep
satellite-like, scanning for a speck in the
tells me—Kishor, you need rest before the
vast Karakorams amidst blurry contour
papers tomorrow.
lines. Math. Problem 22: How far is the from a 5400 meter height? The satchel’s
whether Dad will be proud of me. So will
open like Pandora’s box.
his fate in Siachen.
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target if a bullet is fired at 57.2 degrees My fate in the final exam will decide
Then there’s the English reader. Chapter I don’t reach for the blanket. Won’t gather
one, an extract from Gandhi’s My
a silk Pashmina around my numb toes.
Experiments with Truth. It begins with a
He battles under sub-zero, alert for a
quote on hope. Sharp wind stings through
sound from the other side of the icy wall.
the cracked window.
Alert, when my body craves sleep. But I won’t succumb.
I choose to remain cold and keep company from four hundred miles away.
Mum insists, so I tell her I’m studying— even when I’m well-prepared—and pick up the history textbook. It’s full of conflicts. My head dizzies. Breath doesn’t come easily. Siachen has scarce oxygen, I remember and feel hesitant to gulp more air than I need.
Vaidehi Pat il
23
MINUS TWENTY IN SIACHEN
It’s minus twenty in Siachen. Plus two here in Delhi. I’m freezing. But Dad, crouching in the Sia La pass in the Himalayas with twenty kilograms on him, isn’t. There’s possibly no chance to. Physics. Fission and fusion ignite my I don’t want to settle under the duvet
imagination. Geography. I try to find Dad,
and sleep. The cold is killing, and sleep
satellite-like, scanning for a speck in the
tells me—Kishor, you need rest before the
vast Karakorams amidst blurry contour
papers tomorrow.
lines. Math. Problem 22: How far is the from a 5400 meter height? The satchel’s
whether Dad will be proud of me. So will
open like Pandora’s box.
his fate in Siachen.
VOLUME 50
target if a bullet is fired at 57.2 degrees My fate in the final exam will decide
Then there’s the English reader. Chapter I don’t reach for the blanket. Won’t gather
one, an extract from Gandhi’s My
a silk Pashmina around my numb toes.
Experiments with Truth. It begins with a
He battles under sub-zero, alert for a
quote on hope. Sharp wind stings through
sound from the other side of the icy wall.
the cracked window.
Alert, when my body craves sleep. But I won’t succumb.
I choose to remain cold and keep company from four hundred miles away.
Mum insists, so I tell her I’m studying— even when I’m well-prepared—and pick up the history textbook. It’s full of conflicts. My head dizzies. Breath doesn’t come easily. Siachen has scarce oxygen, I remember and feel hesitant to gulp more air than I need.
Vaidehi Pat il
23
VOLUME 50
WINDHOVER
Austin Caskie
24
25
VOLUME 50
WINDHOVER
Austin Caskie
24
25
WINDHOVER
VOLUME 50
REVISIONISM You presented as a man
I still tell that story
when I met you three years ago
every time drinking tales come up
before your physique
but now I’m not so sure
became feminine
what I’m supposed to do.
and you took a new name.
Should I superimpose your body
Tonight I remembered
upon this memory,
that time three years ago
change your name in retrospect,
when you and me and Sarah
or do I refer to you as you were:
were the new students
an artifact of an era passed,
counting which of us
an image discordant
collected the most free shirts
with the knowledge I now possess
which of us had the most free slices of pizza
so if I use your name as it is now
when the three of us
with your different pronouns,
got drunk in my apartment
is this revisionist or is it
and Sarah passed out in the bathroom
stripping aside the façade
and you passed out on the couch
to see reality as it was meant to be?
and Taylor got home and freaked out.
Darren Lipman
26
27
WINDHOVER
VOLUME 50
REVISIONISM You presented as a man
I still tell that story
when I met you three years ago
every time drinking tales come up
before your physique
but now I’m not so sure
became feminine
what I’m supposed to do.
and you took a new name.
Should I superimpose your body
Tonight I remembered
upon this memory,
that time three years ago
change your name in retrospect,
when you and me and Sarah
or do I refer to you as you were:
were the new students
an artifact of an era passed,
counting which of us
an image discordant
collected the most free shirts
with the knowledge I now possess
which of us had the most free slices of pizza
so if I use your name as it is now
when the three of us
with your different pronouns,
got drunk in my apartment
is this revisionist or is it
and Sarah passed out in the bathroom
stripping aside the façade
and you passed out on the couch
to see reality as it was meant to be?
and Taylor got home and freaked out.
Darren Lipman
26
27
WINDHOVER
GHOSTS you sit there in your car, windows down even though it’s much too cold. let the air seep down into your bones. the chill is uncomfortable, but at least VOLUME 50
discomfort is a feeling. at least you’re feeling something. drive home alone, eat alone, sleep alone. the numbness is crippling. your bed is still made up on one side your white walls are caving in decorated with empty picture frames like skeletons your bedroom is a graveyard haunted with words that should never have been said
Katelyn Auger
28
Annalise Boese
29
WINDHOVER
GHOSTS you sit there in your car, windows down even though it’s much too cold. let the air seep down into your bones. the chill is uncomfortable, but at least VOLUME 50
discomfort is a feeling. at least you’re feeling something. drive home alone, eat alone, sleep alone. the numbness is crippling. your bed is still made up on one side your white walls are caving in decorated with empty picture frames like skeletons your bedroom is a graveyard haunted with words that should never have been said
Katelyn Auger
28
Annalise Boese
29
VOLUME 50
WINDHOVER
Téa Blumer
Nick Fair
30
31
VOLUME 50
WINDHOVER
Téa Blumer
Nick Fair
30
31
VOLUME 50
WINDHOVER
Khushbu Gosai
32
33
VOLUME 50
WINDHOVER
Khushbu Gosai
32
33
VOLUME 50
Ca meren D olecheck
34
VOLUME 50
Ca meren D olecheck
34
Em ily Parker
37
Em ily Parker
37
WINDHOVER
CONSCIENCE NOT
VOLUME 50
BURDENED
Unknown to me the blood of man, crimson stains for calloused hands. Cracking bone and peeling flesh, inhale their last, spoiling breath.
Conscience burdened? Perhaps not.
Tyler Collins
38
39
WINDHOVER
CONSCIENCE NOT
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BURDENED
Unknown to me the blood of man, crimson stains for calloused hands. Cracking bone and peeling flesh, inhale their last, spoiling breath.
Conscience burdened? Perhaps not.
Tyler Collins
38
39
VOLUME 50
Julia Conlon
40
VOLUME 50
Julia Conlon
40
VOLUME 50
WINDHOVER
Scott Reinhard
Hal Meeks
42
43
VOLUME 50
WINDHOVER
Scott Reinhard
Hal Meeks
42
43
WINDHOVER
KUDZU
When I was little I wanted to hide in that plant, the cascading shades of lime and golden greens, the flowing waves of vines rolling down steep hills, overtaking massive rocks and trees in their paths, creating caves and crevices where I could hide. VOLUME 50
I always stared into the emerald hills that overflowed with it to see if anyone had the same idea as me, to see if anyone was taking refuge in that sea of chartreuse and whether they had become part of the plant, a mangle of vines growing over them as if they were a stone.
My dad says kudzu isn’t supposed to be here, that it grows too fast and takes over everything around it. But I thought it was beautiful, felt connected to it— I too wanted to overflow and reach as far out as my limbs would allow me.
Baylis Wallenborn
Megan Bonner
44
45
WINDHOVER
KUDZU
When I was little I wanted to hide in that plant, the cascading shades of lime and golden greens, the flowing waves of vines rolling down steep hills, overtaking massive rocks and trees in their paths, creating caves and crevices where I could hide. VOLUME 50
I always stared into the emerald hills that overflowed with it to see if anyone had the same idea as me, to see if anyone was taking refuge in that sea of chartreuse and whether they had become part of the plant, a mangle of vines growing over them as if they were a stone.
My dad says kudzu isn’t supposed to be here, that it grows too fast and takes over everything around it. But I thought it was beautiful, felt connected to it— I too wanted to overflow and reach as far out as my limbs would allow me.
Baylis Wallenborn
Megan Bonner
44
45
WINDHOVER
NOT GOING BACK
Seeming condemnation surrounds me But I carry on Misplaced disappointment in themselves But I never displaced my diligence Academically and passionately Working at an irrationally harsh rate
VOLUME 50
It’s not hard Yet they all want to escape I stay because they depend on me Demographically Unappreciatively helping them While helping myself to self-deprecation Now you want to escape But you can’t erase The duality of where the cream meets the Oreo Is the crossroads at which I write While They write me off.
Ethan Cole Evans
46
Austin Caskie
47
WINDHOVER
NOT GOING BACK
Seeming condemnation surrounds me But I carry on Misplaced disappointment in themselves But I never displaced my diligence Academically and passionately Working at an irrationally harsh rate
VOLUME 50
It’s not hard Yet they all want to escape I stay because they depend on me Demographically Unappreciatively helping them While helping myself to self-deprecation Now you want to escape But you can’t erase The duality of where the cream meets the Oreo Is the crossroads at which I write While They write me off.
Ethan Cole Evans
46
Austin Caskie
47
WINDHOVER
VOLUME 50
Eduardo Talavera
48
49
WINDHOVER
VOLUME 50
Eduardo Talavera
48
49
WINDHOVER
LIGHT EXPOSURE You wore a blue dress. I remember because it was raining, and the grey of the clouds blended into the grey of the church behind us, so that you stood out against them like a dulled sapphire waiting for sunlight. I held the umbrella over our heads while you took pictures. Capturing mahogany doors, their carefully-carved etchings, smiling cherubs that adorned the entryway, the steeple that swept above our heads and
VOLUME 50
brushed the charcoal sky. It occurred to me that you took pictures of churches and bridges and alleyways but never of you, never of me, never of us. A photograph is made when a chemical reaction records the impression of light onto silver atoms. You must have thought that the impression of our light wasn’t bright enough to make a decent image.
Julia Conlon
But eventually I stopped trying to force our interaction, and you didn’t seem to care if it had ever been recorded in the first place. At the end of our botched experiment, all we had were the negatives.
Clarissa Rainear
50
51
WINDHOVER
LIGHT EXPOSURE You wore a blue dress. I remember because it was raining, and the grey of the clouds blended into the grey of the church behind us, so that you stood out against them like a dulled sapphire waiting for sunlight. I held the umbrella over our heads while you took pictures. Capturing mahogany doors, their carefully-carved etchings, smiling cherubs that adorned the entryway, the steeple that swept above our heads and
VOLUME 50
brushed the charcoal sky. It occurred to me that you took pictures of churches and bridges and alleyways but never of you, never of me, never of us. A photograph is made when a chemical reaction records the impression of light onto silver atoms. You must have thought that the impression of our light wasn’t bright enough to make a decent image.
Julia Conlon
But eventually I stopped trying to force our interaction, and you didn’t seem to care if it had ever been recorded in the first place. At the end of our botched experiment, all we had were the negatives.
Clarissa Rainear
50
51
WINDHOVER
VOLUME 50
CEDAR AND METAL One for the living
with plastic teeth from their
trees encircling the sacred space;
wall perches. They witness
one for the efficient
teen’s sermons on storm fronts.
engineering in the center. Pieced
Boas and rabbits
together in four cardinal
bask beneath heat bulbs in
corners, containing
cages ringing the perimeter.
memory and opportunity.
Bookshelves, laden
A green roof folded as
with age, bent in a thin
praying hands. Square
but knowing grin.
columns contrast the round trunks
Posters hang like categorical portraits
they were taken from.
from the rough-cut walls.
Wide overhanging canopies
Dirty concrete develops
surround the nature building,
the dusty smell that lingers throughout.
a giant mushroom in the forest.
Deference to those who enter in yearning.
Picnic benches miss their pupils. Through the double doors, vaulted ceiling and a dusk-gray podium preach to the plastic table pews.
Jack Kit t rell Taxidermied animals, like the stations of the cross, smile
Katelynn McCorquodale
53
WINDHOVER
VOLUME 50
CEDAR AND METAL One for the living
with plastic teeth from their
trees encircling the sacred space;
wall perches. They witness
one for the efficient
teen’s sermons on storm fronts.
engineering in the center. Pieced
Boas and rabbits
together in four cardinal
bask beneath heat bulbs in
corners, containing
cages ringing the perimeter.
memory and opportunity.
Bookshelves, laden
A green roof folded as
with age, bent in a thin
praying hands. Square
but knowing grin.
columns contrast the round trunks
Posters hang like categorical portraits
they were taken from.
from the rough-cut walls.
Wide overhanging canopies
Dirty concrete develops
surround the nature building,
the dusty smell that lingers throughout.
a giant mushroom in the forest.
Deference to those who enter in yearning.
Picnic benches miss their pupils. Through the double doors, vaulted ceiling and a dusk-gray podium preach to the plastic table pews.
Jack Kit t rell Taxidermied animals, like the stations of the cross, smile
Katelynn McCorquodale
53
WINDHOVER
TWISTING
Clouds fall on the city at night and soon there is no city.
And the people feel alone together.
VOLUME 50
Beauty in flowers twisting through what’s left
of the sidewalk. I knew the bricks felt uneven.
Joseph Silvers
Jacob Lineberry
54
55
WINDHOVER
TWISTING
Clouds fall on the city at night and soon there is no city.
And the people feel alone together.
VOLUME 50
Beauty in flowers twisting through what’s left
of the sidewalk. I knew the bricks felt uneven.
Joseph Silvers
Jacob Lineberry
54
55
WINDHOVER
IT’S BEEN FOUR YEARS I wonder if I would recognize you if your skeletal arms were thicker, if you cut your hair, grew taller. The idea of you aging makes me want to vomit. I think about it anyway. The bruises on my thighs are gone but the imprints of your frigid grip are bone-deep. Your skin has long been washed out from underneath my nails. Still, the memory of scratching frantically at your shoulders will forever be embedded
I am different. You are frozen.
VOLUME 50
in my fingertips.
You do not have the right to change, to become anything other than what you
Katelyn Auger
were when you pushed me against the brick wall and shoved your tongue down my throat. I am older, and you are not allowed to be.
Clarissa Rainear
56
57
WINDHOVER
IT’S BEEN FOUR YEARS I wonder if I would recognize you if your skeletal arms were thicker, if you cut your hair, grew taller. The idea of you aging makes me want to vomit. I think about it anyway. The bruises on my thighs are gone but the imprints of your frigid grip are bone-deep. Your skin has long been washed out from underneath my nails. Still, the memory of scratching frantically at your shoulders will forever be embedded
I am different. You are frozen.
VOLUME 50
in my fingertips.
You do not have the right to change, to become anything other than what you
Katelyn Auger
were when you pushed me against the brick wall and shoved your tongue down my throat. I am older, and you are not allowed to be.
Clarissa Rainear
56
57
WINDHOVER
VOLUME 50
Cameren Dolecheck
58
59
WINDHOVER
VOLUME 50
Cameren Dolecheck
58
59
VOLUME 50
WINDHOVER
Lydia Kuekes
60
Emily Parker
61
VOLUME 50
WINDHOVER
Lydia Kuekes
60
Emily Parker
61
WINDHOVER
Tyler Hayes
62
WINDHOVER
Tyler Hayes
62
WINDHOVER
AFTER LOVE Dew glitters on red fiberglass as she pulls out of the driveway.
VOLUME 50
Her lips, crimson as her car, purse to blow one last kiss. I wince as I reach up to catch it, back cracking, a reminder of the night prior.
Tyler Collins
Corey Myrick
64
65
WINDHOVER
AFTER LOVE Dew glitters on red fiberglass as she pulls out of the driveway.
VOLUME 50
Her lips, crimson as her car, purse to blow one last kiss. I wince as I reach up to catch it, back cracking, a reminder of the night prior.
Tyler Collins
Corey Myrick
64
65
WINDHOVER
ICE-CREAM, PAST LOVES, AND OTHER THINGS THAT DON’T EXPIRE
No matter how hard one compartmentalizes the brain, the thoughts of the past still seep through. Those synapses that connect—back and forth and back again—always remember the sparks VOLUME 50
that put them in motion. Those thoughts linger and have no sell-by dates. Even when you change destination, surroundings, people… the past does not care. It can be during the marathon of bridal shows, an airplane ride, or even a trip down an aisle in the grocery store when the brain remembers the feeling of loss. Or sadness. Or the feeling of the “once was.” It was the joke that was always laughed at,
Monica Galletto
a smile that juxtaposed the circumstance, or a callused hand that intertwined soft fingertips. Those are the moments that unsurface like the forgotten carton of icecream in the back of the freezer.
Kaitlin Fritz
66
67
WINDHOVER
ICE-CREAM, PAST LOVES, AND OTHER THINGS THAT DON’T EXPIRE
No matter how hard one compartmentalizes the brain, the thoughts of the past still seep through. Those synapses that connect—back and forth and back again—always remember the sparks VOLUME 50
that put them in motion. Those thoughts linger and have no sell-by dates. Even when you change destination, surroundings, people… the past does not care. It can be during the marathon of bridal shows, an airplane ride, or even a trip down an aisle in the grocery store when the brain remembers the feeling of loss. Or sadness. Or the feeling of the “once was.” It was the joke that was always laughed at,
Monica Galletto
a smile that juxtaposed the circumstance, or a callused hand that intertwined soft fingertips. Those are the moments that unsurface like the forgotten carton of icecream in the back of the freezer.
Kaitlin Fritz
66
67
VOLUME 50
WINDHOVER
Jennifer Vaughn
68
69
VOLUME 50
WINDHOVER
Jennifer Vaughn
68
69
WINDHOVER
REOCCURRING DREAM OF DROWNING
REOCCURRING
VOLUME 50
DREAM OF FLIGHT
Pick the lily pads out of your pockets. They are heavy
Not quite soar,
with the sweet rot of marsh. You can
you are borne like a seed, spore
bind brick to ankle, a cinder block anchor.
arcing up and flung over the shoulder,
Let it pull you down into the swish of current,
broad back of the breeze.
become sunken schooner swift in a dark descent. Listen to soft aquatic static, oncoming shoals of fish
You choose not what point on your compass
flitting like needles on a murky record;
you travel to, only that you will arrive.
soundtrack of heart pulsing in ears like sonar.
Drifter; flesh wrought by wind; spread-
Let your heart be buoyant. Let it be bright —
eagled and spring-heeled: you are not
the flick-flash of scales, ripples radiating. Find
caped, are not savior, are not crowned.
through the deep a dream that is not at all dry or hard. Relinquish what little air you keep tucked
You are feather-heavy, doomed
in each bronchiole, let it be what it was meant for:
to wake in sweat and draft, are thorn
bubbles buoying up through thick atmosphere,
in the palm of a sanguine-hued sky.
popping the surface. Let this be
You extend your arms to stretch, reaching
a struggle against ancient chaos. Mouth wide open:
to cuff a cloud in the cup of your hands.
allow the passage of water and gurgle the fallen sky.
Samuel J. Fox
70
WINDHOVER
REOCCURRING DREAM OF DROWNING
REOCCURRING
VOLUME 50
DREAM OF FLIGHT
Pick the lily pads out of your pockets. They are heavy
Not quite soar,
with the sweet rot of marsh. You can
you are borne like a seed, spore
bind brick to ankle, a cinder block anchor.
arcing up and flung over the shoulder,
Let it pull you down into the swish of current,
broad back of the breeze.
become sunken schooner swift in a dark descent. Listen to soft aquatic static, oncoming shoals of fish
You choose not what point on your compass
flitting like needles on a murky record;
you travel to, only that you will arrive.
soundtrack of heart pulsing in ears like sonar.
Drifter; flesh wrought by wind; spread-
Let your heart be buoyant. Let it be bright —
eagled and spring-heeled: you are not
the flick-flash of scales, ripples radiating. Find
caped, are not savior, are not crowned.
through the deep a dream that is not at all dry or hard. Relinquish what little air you keep tucked
You are feather-heavy, doomed
in each bronchiole, let it be what it was meant for:
to wake in sweat and draft, are thorn
bubbles buoying up through thick atmosphere,
in the palm of a sanguine-hued sky.
popping the surface. Let this be
You extend your arms to stretch, reaching
a struggle against ancient chaos. Mouth wide open:
to cuff a cloud in the cup of your hands.
allow the passage of water and gurgle the fallen sky.
Samuel J. Fox
70
WINDHOVER
Tyler Hayes
72
73
WINDHOVER
Tyler Hayes
72
73
Katelyn Auger
Katelyn Auger
WINDHOVER
SILVER
Someone has to be first into the theatre, spotting the small unlit aisle arrows— a pause in the emergency plan exists. Arms raise on impulse.
dance into and away from one another,
VOLUME 50
Inky silhouettes of hands
magnified against a cool silver white rarely noticed. Nothing, under the command of no one. How, in our solitude, we wish the seats would rise and fall.
Jamal Bell
76
Joseph Silvers
77
WINDHOVER
SILVER
Someone has to be first into the theatre, spotting the small unlit aisle arrows— a pause in the emergency plan exists. Arms raise on impulse.
dance into and away from one another,
VOLUME 50
Inky silhouettes of hands
magnified against a cool silver white rarely noticed. Nothing, under the command of no one. How, in our solitude, we wish the seats would rise and fall.
Jamal Bell
76
Joseph Silvers
77
WINDHOVER
LED
quicker than my eye can see What else, I ask myself,
VOLUME 50
On and off, Off and on
Do I not perceive?
Emilie Mathura
Brantley Atkinson
78
79
WINDHOVER
LED
quicker than my eye can see What else, I ask myself,
VOLUME 50
On and off, Off and on
Do I not perceive?
Emilie Mathura
Brantley Atkinson
78
79
WINDHOVER
GREENSBORO, AGAIN I’m in the kitchen chewing on cold quiche thinking about the way there’s so much pain in the world It’s the last day of July, & a cold wind sweeps the ground. There’s a racket going on outside that sounds as if they’re hammering a pipe. Even the motorcycle that starts up every morning seems to be in tune — the engine cycles, the hits on that pipe — they resonate, and it reminds me of waking up in the Zen center.
If I hear, it’s an unnatural sound. If I see light, it’s fake and fluorescent working in an office, until I’m beat & benign, until I don’t even whine. For this is God’s plan,
Mar ia Mar t inez
or something like that.
Some people really believe, that America is righteous, that all this belongs and the universe is just. I’ll tell you two things: they’re wrong, and so am I.
N ich o la s Ca s a le
81
WINDHOVER
GREENSBORO, AGAIN I’m in the kitchen chewing on cold quiche thinking about the way there’s so much pain in the world It’s the last day of July, & a cold wind sweeps the ground. There’s a racket going on outside that sounds as if they’re hammering a pipe. Even the motorcycle that starts up every morning seems to be in tune — the engine cycles, the hits on that pipe — they resonate, and it reminds me of waking up in the Zen center.
If I hear, it’s an unnatural sound. If I see light, it’s fake and fluorescent working in an office, until I’m beat & benign, until I don’t even whine. For this is God’s plan,
Mar ia Mar t inez
or something like that.
Some people really believe, that America is righteous, that all this belongs and the universe is just. I’ll tell you two things: they’re wrong, and so am I.
N ich o la s Ca s a le
81
WINDHOVER
of American ideals. Two lawyers, having
I’d balance my chin in a puckered hand,
earned their way to the top from humble
maintaining eye contact throughout ses-
beginnings, passing for white, just barely. I
sions. Throughout these appointments, I
can hardly be mad when I look at the two
had learned how to feign normal enough
of them. It is a matter of objective vileness,
to pass unnoticed. Mirroring helped—
a general notion and indicator of denial in
most everyone liked to think themselves
favor of materialism and stature that the
ordinary, or, in better words, similar to
I used to smile easier. Now it is an exercise,
two have merely become examples of. Fully
others. A tranquil, flickering smile, one
a mechanical response pattern to save
assimilated. I blame them for it, though
that seemed to always be there rather than
time from having to explain myself. I study
rolling my eyes seems an absurd gesture
one that seemed as though it had to be
others, mirror their inhabited positions
to make in response. One thing that isn’t
drudged up.
and expressions to put them at ease. It is
their fault.
HOW TO PUT ON A MASK
The woman I had at first was wary of me.
VOLUME 50
simpler, to stretch myself into a shape people are more comfortable with. I’d learned
Funny that the child that initially marked
I changed my mannerisms too quickly,
to do it years ago, and I am practiced to
their beginning as newer, smarter, better,
and shifted the answers to my ques-
the point that it doesn’t bother me for the
stronger, (whiter,) people exists now only
tions regularly enough for her to know
most part. Occasionally a twinge in my side
to halt their progression forward from a
they weren’t entirely true. The two men
will remind me that my outside is separate
more recent past they already want to be
afterward were more susceptible to body
from my inside, and that I shouldn’t be this
done with.
language. Head tilted slightly down, wide eyes, legs crossed above the knee, casual,
way, but I can forget it in favor of being My psychiatrist in elementary school sug-
non-threatening. Submissive, pink and
gested I had a “looser grip than most” on
turquoise. I spoke in a soft voice, as I was
Isaac and Grace Vazquez dedicated their
reality. Has it slipped farther from my grasp
supposed to, masking the ghosts that
futures to escaping their pasts, so in retro-
in my habitual mimicry? At times, I wonder
swam in my head. Adults like to believe
spect, I find it contradictory that they took
if my clinical diagnoses from then and
that children always tell the truth. Because
shelter in Theresa’s memory-riddled home
now would form a matching pair if I turned
if badness exists from the beginning, where
thirteen years ago to resolve their marital
up at that office again for those tests I
does our innocence go? Fuck that.
confusions. Though I suppose it must be
insistently answered falsely. Most people
hard to run away when you can’t conceive
don’t understand that you can’t be helped
My father eventually withdrew me from
of anywhere left to go. My father moved
if you don’t accept it. I had been insulted
that place, as it didn’t stop me pulling away
up north at eighteen in an attempt to shed
that I was scanned for anomalies. I fought
from my mother when she had a hold on my
the stereotype-laden image that came
my mother, and that made me wrong. My
wrists. Those were always what she reached
with being the child of two illegal Mexican
parents took me there not because they
for first. It didn’t stop me from wearing short-
immigrants. My mother, a denier of her
wanted to help me; they wanted me to be
sleeved shirts when we had guests over.
heritage, ignored it in favor of her dreams
fixed. It would have been different.
Some behaviors we are forced to fight for.
looked at as a human being. A quiet girl.
82
83
WINDHOVER
of American ideals. Two lawyers, having
I’d balance my chin in a puckered hand,
earned their way to the top from humble
maintaining eye contact throughout ses-
beginnings, passing for white, just barely. I
sions. Throughout these appointments, I
can hardly be mad when I look at the two
had learned how to feign normal enough
of them. It is a matter of objective vileness,
to pass unnoticed. Mirroring helped—
a general notion and indicator of denial in
most everyone liked to think themselves
favor of materialism and stature that the
ordinary, or, in better words, similar to
I used to smile easier. Now it is an exercise,
two have merely become examples of. Fully
others. A tranquil, flickering smile, one
a mechanical response pattern to save
assimilated. I blame them for it, though
that seemed to always be there rather than
time from having to explain myself. I study
rolling my eyes seems an absurd gesture
one that seemed as though it had to be
others, mirror their inhabited positions
to make in response. One thing that isn’t
drudged up.
and expressions to put them at ease. It is
their fault.
HOW TO PUT ON A MASK
The woman I had at first was wary of me.
VOLUME 50
simpler, to stretch myself into a shape people are more comfortable with. I’d learned
Funny that the child that initially marked
I changed my mannerisms too quickly,
to do it years ago, and I am practiced to
their beginning as newer, smarter, better,
and shifted the answers to my ques-
the point that it doesn’t bother me for the
stronger, (whiter,) people exists now only
tions regularly enough for her to know
most part. Occasionally a twinge in my side
to halt their progression forward from a
they weren’t entirely true. The two men
will remind me that my outside is separate
more recent past they already want to be
afterward were more susceptible to body
from my inside, and that I shouldn’t be this
done with.
language. Head tilted slightly down, wide eyes, legs crossed above the knee, casual,
way, but I can forget it in favor of being My psychiatrist in elementary school sug-
non-threatening. Submissive, pink and
gested I had a “looser grip than most” on
turquoise. I spoke in a soft voice, as I was
Isaac and Grace Vazquez dedicated their
reality. Has it slipped farther from my grasp
supposed to, masking the ghosts that
futures to escaping their pasts, so in retro-
in my habitual mimicry? At times, I wonder
swam in my head. Adults like to believe
spect, I find it contradictory that they took
if my clinical diagnoses from then and
that children always tell the truth. Because
shelter in Theresa’s memory-riddled home
now would form a matching pair if I turned
if badness exists from the beginning, where
thirteen years ago to resolve their marital
up at that office again for those tests I
does our innocence go? Fuck that.
confusions. Though I suppose it must be
insistently answered falsely. Most people
hard to run away when you can’t conceive
don’t understand that you can’t be helped
My father eventually withdrew me from
of anywhere left to go. My father moved
if you don’t accept it. I had been insulted
that place, as it didn’t stop me pulling away
up north at eighteen in an attempt to shed
that I was scanned for anomalies. I fought
from my mother when she had a hold on my
the stereotype-laden image that came
my mother, and that made me wrong. My
wrists. Those were always what she reached
with being the child of two illegal Mexican
parents took me there not because they
for first. It didn’t stop me from wearing short-
immigrants. My mother, a denier of her
wanted to help me; they wanted me to be
sleeved shirts when we had guests over.
heritage, ignored it in favor of her dreams
fixed. It would have been different.
Some behaviors we are forced to fight for.
looked at as a human being. A quiet girl.
82
83
WINDHOVER
Making oneself unnoticeable is somewhat
a person’s peace more often than not, stay
difficult for a person most commonly iden-
away from people who can trigger their re-
tified as a woman. It comes with repetition.
pressed perceived-to-be-homosexual urges.
Folding in my limbs, eyes down, those are givens. Eye contact typically serves
My hair is the biggest feminine signifier I
as an invitation. Though it is important
wear. Apart from my height, yet another
to note, lack thereof sometimes does as
attribute frequently mistakenly conflated
well. “You’ll look prettier if you smile.” You
with gender. People are intrigued by the
can neither be passive nor aggressive,
combination of my brown skin and waves
conventional nor unconventional. If I hate
of pale hair. The color skipped a gener-
them, I am playing hard to get; if I am
ation, the shock white coming from my
friendly, I still want to fuck them. There’s
grandmother and somehow resurfacing in
the rub: trying to look precisely unfuckable
me. It draws attention when it is out—some
enough to make them want to look away,
ask to touch it. Others are more pointed in
but not enough so that they feel compelled
their accusations: “What are you?” Tired.
to make it known to me. Because, apparently, the worst thing in the world is to be a
The categorizations people throw at me
woman while not being attractive to men.
feel like trusses bound round by wrists, tape over my mouth. A dirty colored girl,
Trying to walk a line between opposites
half-breed, something between man and
is precarious, but like most things I put
woman, something between human and
my mind to, I have figured out a some-
not, acceptable and not, sane and not,
what consistent way of avoiding atten-
something like a person. I have not the
tion through practice. I experiment with
luxury of being able to run away as my
different methods on my daily trips on the
parents do, nor have I the desire to. I allow
metro. I wear nondescript clothes. I read
people to decide what they want. I decide
books. Freud is a favorite, he seems to
what I want. I draw a line that only I know
ward off pests better than, say, Proust or
of, and I am the only one who can cross it
Hemingway. Even Plath draws in those who
freely. I tuck my hair into sexless hats.
desperately want to share with me their feminist aspirations. Proust attracts hipster boys who long to imprint upon wild, unsuspecting girls. Hemingway draws in romantics. Some men on the subway mistake my reading as a way to introduce themselves through what they believe to be mutual interest rather than as an excuse not to speak with anyone. Androgyny suits me, and white men, being the sole predators of
84
Mary Anna Rice
WINDHOVER
Making oneself unnoticeable is somewhat
a person’s peace more often than not, stay
difficult for a person most commonly iden-
away from people who can trigger their re-
tified as a woman. It comes with repetition.
pressed perceived-to-be-homosexual urges.
Folding in my limbs, eyes down, those are givens. Eye contact typically serves
My hair is the biggest feminine signifier I
as an invitation. Though it is important
wear. Apart from my height, yet another
to note, lack thereof sometimes does as
attribute frequently mistakenly conflated
well. “You’ll look prettier if you smile.” You
with gender. People are intrigued by the
can neither be passive nor aggressive,
combination of my brown skin and waves
conventional nor unconventional. If I hate
of pale hair. The color skipped a gener-
them, I am playing hard to get; if I am
ation, the shock white coming from my
friendly, I still want to fuck them. There’s
grandmother and somehow resurfacing in
the rub: trying to look precisely unfuckable
me. It draws attention when it is out—some
enough to make them want to look away,
ask to touch it. Others are more pointed in
but not enough so that they feel compelled
their accusations: “What are you?” Tired.
to make it known to me. Because, apparently, the worst thing in the world is to be a
The categorizations people throw at me
woman while not being attractive to men.
feel like trusses bound round by wrists, tape over my mouth. A dirty colored girl,
Trying to walk a line between opposites
half-breed, something between man and
is precarious, but like most things I put
woman, something between human and
my mind to, I have figured out a some-
not, acceptable and not, sane and not,
what consistent way of avoiding atten-
something like a person. I have not the
tion through practice. I experiment with
luxury of being able to run away as my
different methods on my daily trips on the
parents do, nor have I the desire to. I allow
metro. I wear nondescript clothes. I read
people to decide what they want. I decide
books. Freud is a favorite, he seems to
what I want. I draw a line that only I know
ward off pests better than, say, Proust or
of, and I am the only one who can cross it
Hemingway. Even Plath draws in those who
freely. I tuck my hair into sexless hats.
desperately want to share with me their feminist aspirations. Proust attracts hipster boys who long to imprint upon wild, unsuspecting girls. Hemingway draws in romantics. Some men on the subway mistake my reading as a way to introduce themselves through what they believe to be mutual interest rather than as an excuse not to speak with anyone. Androgyny suits me, and white men, being the sole predators of
84
Mary Anna Rice
VOLUME 50
Sadie Red Wing
87
VOLUME 50
Sadie Red Wing
87
WINDHOVER
WHEN YOUNGER Maybe if I read more Then I’d have the words to say In the cafeteria, and in the colonnade And on the bleachers in the winter
VOLUME 50
At the end of the day.
Or maybe the choice of what to say Would be too much to make. Yeah, I can only remember all of the waiting to find Something worthy and “right” Inside my arrogant mind.
All of your movements were so swift and serene On hazy fields, green and green. Hah, places we thought we’d never leave! Cruel boys, ever gaping eyes.. You burn me out.
Na th a n Fo rb es
Nick Fair
88
89
WINDHOVER
WHEN YOUNGER Maybe if I read more Then I’d have the words to say In the cafeteria, and in the colonnade And on the bleachers in the winter
VOLUME 50
At the end of the day.
Or maybe the choice of what to say Would be too much to make. Yeah, I can only remember all of the waiting to find Something worthy and “right” Inside my arrogant mind.
All of your movements were so swift and serene On hazy fields, green and green. Hah, places we thought we’d never leave! Cruel boys, ever gaping eyes.. You burn me out.
Na th a n Fo rb es
Nick Fair
88
89
WINDHOVER
VOLUME 50
Jacob Lineberry
90
91
WINDHOVER
VOLUME 50
Jacob Lineberry
90
91
WINDHOVER
VOLUME 50
Katelynn McCorquodale
92
93
WINDHOVER
VOLUME 50
Katelynn McCorquodale
92
93
OLD BLACK LOAFERS Once you were new and shiny as a penny. I remember when I wore you to church--you felt so alive to me.
Old black loafers... I remember when you got your black eye
You stopped shining as much as you used to
VOLUME 50
and started looking sick.
I remember I tried to revive you. Fixed your broken strings that twirled through the holes like organs, but I couldn’t feel your heartbeat.
I tried to give you life with the dusty old rag and heavy black shoe shine, yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make the rag squeak.
Arlan Wallace
Corey Myrick
94
OLD BLACK LOAFERS Once you were new and shiny as a penny. I remember when I wore you to church--you felt so alive to me.
Old black loafers... I remember when you got your black eye
You stopped shining as much as you used to
VOLUME 50
and started looking sick.
I remember I tried to revive you. Fixed your broken strings that twirled through the holes like organs, but I couldn’t feel your heartbeat.
I tried to give you life with the dusty old rag and heavy black shoe shine, yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make the rag squeak.
Arlan Wallace
Corey Myrick
94
WINDHOVER
VOLUME 50
Maria Martinez
96
97
WINDHOVER
VOLUME 50
Maria Martinez
96
97
AUDIO SUBMISSIONS
Karin Bennett | Hand in Hand Gradeon Martin | Morse Code Vince Inherent | Dawn Break Justin Kuhn | Somnambulance Phillip Buriak | Polar Array Matthew Wright | Wanna Love You Chad Yëager | Lab Partners RErework Adam Davis | Doubt Phillip Buriak | Bioluminescence
windhover.bandcamp.com
AUDIO SUBMISSIONS
Karin Bennett | Hand in Hand Gradeon Martin | Morse Code Vince Inherent | Dawn Break Justin Kuhn | Somnambulance Phillip Buriak | Polar Array Matthew Wright | Wanna Love You Chad Yëager | Lab Partners RErework Adam Davis | Doubt Phillip Buriak | Bioluminescence
windhover.bandcamp.com
A LETTER FROM THE EDITOR
It is a blessing to be able to present to you this year’s Windhover. Each individual piece of visual art, literature, and music in this book says a little about its creator, but as a whole, the pieces say a lot about our school. This university is home to an incredibly diverse set of individuals and the work featured in this publication reflects that. I was amazed at the talent exhibited by some of the people associated with NC State and I hope you are too. I would like to extend my gratitude to a few people who helped make this publication possible. First to Martha and the rest of the Student Media Staff; it was a whirlwind taking on this project with little knowledge of what to expect, so thank you all for your guidance and support. Next, to Kenny Shepard and Theo Davis Printing. Thank you for helping us endlessly with printing this publication and for caring about it as much as we do. A huge thank you to the Windhover staff for your devoted commitment and fresh ideas this year. And finally, thank you to everyone who submitted their work. Obviously, this publication would not exist without you, and we appreciate you taking the time to contribute. Working on Windhover this past year has been an absolute pleasure. I’m still struggling to accept that it’s over. One rarely gets a chance to lead a team as talented as this year’s staff and I am endlessly grateful for the opportunity. Thinking back to where we started off this year to where we have ended, I could not be more proud of the amount of time, effort, and care everyone has put into this moving work of art.
K.g.
A LETTER FROM THE EDITOR
It is a blessing to be able to present to you this year’s Windhover. Each individual piece of visual art, literature, and music in this book says a little about its creator, but as a whole, the pieces say a lot about our school. This university is home to an incredibly diverse set of individuals and the work featured in this publication reflects that. I was amazed at the talent exhibited by some of the people associated with NC State and I hope you are too. I would like to extend my gratitude to a few people who helped make this publication possible. First to Martha and the rest of the Student Media Staff; it was a whirlwind taking on this project with little knowledge of what to expect, so thank you all for your guidance and support. Next, to Kenny Shepard and Theo Davis Printing. Thank you for helping us endlessly with printing this publication and for caring about it as much as we do. A huge thank you to the Windhover staff for your devoted commitment and fresh ideas this year. And finally, thank you to everyone who submitted their work. Obviously, this publication would not exist without you, and we appreciate you taking the time to contribute. Working on Windhover this past year has been an absolute pleasure. I’m still struggling to accept that it’s over. One rarely gets a chance to lead a team as talented as this year’s staff and I am endlessly grateful for the opportunity. Thinking back to where we started off this year to where we have ended, I could not be more proud of the amount of time, effort, and care everyone has put into this moving work of art.
K.g.
WINDHOVER volume 50
Editor-in-Chief
Kaanchee Gandhi
Design Editor
Ryland Bishop
Designer
Sonia Hupfeld-Cousineau
Publication Adviser
Martha Collins
Literary Editor
Threa Almontaser
Visual Editor
Cyrus Homesley
Audio Editor
Ashley Darrisaw
Literary Committee
Nikita Chintalapudi Jessica Bowen
Visual Committee
Rhett Hissam Adam Cunningham
Audio Committee
Dylan Bryant Ben Webber
Printing
Theo Davis Printing Typefaces - Source Sans Pro, Edita Paper - #100 Opus Dull Dividers - Rainbow Foil Copies - 1,250
WINDHOVER volume 50
Editor-in-Chief
Kaanchee Gandhi
Design Editor
Ryland Bishop
Designer
Sonia Hupfeld-Cousineau
Publication Adviser
Martha Collins
Literary Editor
Threa Almontaser
Visual Editor
Cyrus Homesley
Audio Editor
Ashley Darrisaw
Literary Committee
Nikita Chintalapudi Jessica Bowen
Visual Committee
Rhett Hissam Adam Cunningham
Audio Committee
Dylan Bryant Ben Webber
Printing
Theo Davis Printing Typefaces - Source Sans Pro, Edita Paper - #100 Opus Dull Dividers - Rainbow Foil Copies - 1,250