description

It was rather beautiful, somehow,
in the way that frozen time
would be beautiful:
imperfect, & yet,
like raindrops-turned-snowflakes,
the crystallization had transformed it
into something utterly
unique.

The taste was condensed, almost-
slightly fermented
like icewine,
& sweet like no
normal fruit would ever have been.

The heat of my fingers seared
gold-red mottles
into the perfect opaquegrey surface;
it was strange to me
how skin
could balance on two such extremes-
how the reaction between them would
alter something in each.

It melted slowly,

I am the breeze that signals the beginning of autumn. I am the first bite of that crisp apple, shining with dew, plucked from the branches of a tree. I am the golden-red hue of the falling leaf, so gently dancing towards the ground.
I am the icy cold wind, pelting your skin with hail. I am the ten-foot drifts of snow, piling higher as you shovel the walk-way. I am the snowballs thrown over fort walls. I am the icicles hanging off of trees, and crystallizing the world.

Based on Aigaios, composed by David Ludwig, performed by musicians selected from ECCO

It is the sound of broken glass,
each piece chasing the other
running from a wall of water
trying to escape the turmoil of
their own creation. The chime
of glass, that starry sound, is
nonexistent, turned to a fearful
shriek, overpowered by the
sounds of metal. The shards
take refuge in the sea foam and
even underwater, they scream
against the rusted metal hull of
the boat they once belonged to.
To think that strings could make
this sound, of glass and metal and

Prompt: What makes your hands different than anyone else's hands?

These hands are different than anyone else’s hands in the entire world. They may look different, but it’s really the journey these hands have made that makes them unique.
These hands have grown over the years to have long, thin piano fingers.
These hands have soaked up hot soapy water in a metallic sink, and become shriveled like raisins.
These hands have suffered through the iciness of building snowmen with no gloves on, and become numb and purple until warmed back up again next to a woodstove.

I stand at the edge of the pool
and test the tempertature with my hand.
The water is pretty cold,
which is good
on such a hot day.
Climbing onto the diving board,
I hold my breath
and rush to the end,
jumping in.

As soon as my whole body is underneath the surface of the water,
I open my eyes
and study the scene.
I can see a few people,
swimming far off.
I see the sun shining through the surface above me.
I move my arms and legs slowly,
nonchalantly drifting forward through the water.
Letting myself gently float up to the surface,
as I lift my head
out from the water,

It was a kingdom; a hidey-hole. It was a land without time, without peril, without people. The only evidence of past torture was a stump in the middle of the wild, now so overgrown with moss that it looked peaceful and perfectly at home, like a wise man surveying his pride. Even the pesky and foolish ground-dwelling vines that were everywhere at her feet stayed away from this stump.

The birds sing their songs,
flurries of notes that sound beautiful.
The wind blows from behind me,
sweeping my long hair into my face.
The sky is plastered with colorful pastels,
as the sun starts to rise from beyond the mountain ranges in the distance.
The pink and orange hues of sunrise begin to disintegrate,
the sun gradually turning the sky a brilliant blue.

I pick a good rock to sit on, and trail my barefoot in the water.
It feels only about ten degrees colder than the air.
Not too bad.
It wasn't like it was 38 degrees or anything. Not freezing cold.
Probably just around 60.
Something catches my eye, in the grass.
Movement just on the edge of the pond.
Frogs, I think.
I lean down to catch one.
Dodging my hands, they make their escape into the water.
I shrug.
Gazing towards the indigo midnight sky, I realize I should be heading back now.

That smell.
Of Autumn leaves,
And color,
And music.
An all-consuming symphony that
Carries it's notes across the world,
On that cool Autumn breeze.
It whips around me,
Chilling my soul.
The adreneline softly courses
Through my veins.
I am at home in that breeze,
never questioning who I am,
Or my place in life.
Because I know,
That I belong in
That wind's
Cool embrace.

The sky is a rich purple,
almost a plum color,
with a streak of pale yellow working its way outward from the horizon.

I'm not sure what to call this chapter, but these tears are starting to spell out fear with letters that make the sounds,
out of control.

Its like poetry, listening to a heart break.

The soft, musical sound of glass tinkling and whispering through the air, singing like wind chimes.

The bit of soul that you feel swish past your thoughts, just like a winter breeze, drift away so it cannot have its hopes brought up again.

That unheard, unspoken cry - like this tear that should not, never, ever be shed.

Those smothered pieces of pretty blue china, pressed to hard, and so they break into smaller pieces, and bring your bleeding to life.

The blue sky is clouded with dark-grey clouds.
As the first drop hits the first person, they all start to feel the drops of the summer rain. Soon, almsot the entire square is cleared of people. I'm the only one still standing in the center of the square. They are all inside the stores, keeping dry.
My hair is becoming damp, as the rain continues to fall to the ground. All the people are staring at me, wondering why I am still out in the rain, when I could be dry. But I love the rain. People pull out their umbrellas as they start to leave the safety of the stores, fleeing to their homes.

Dipping my foot in the river, I feel the cold overwhelming my body. It is about 90 degrees out, which is why the cold feels so great. It is so hot tonight. I don't beleive I have ever felt the weather so warm.
I watch a cute little frog as it jumps towards me and scrambles under a wilting leaf. If I could,I would smile, but now I am much too sad.
I gaze longingly at the star-lit night sky. This will be my last night in my hometown. Grabbing my suitcase, and setting off, I leave the small place I once called home.

I gaze at the far-off sky.The clouds displaying the pinks and oranges of an ocean sunset. I glance down occasionally, only to see glittering seashells sprinkled all over the soft sand. The tide is coming in. The small waves just reach my feet,then retreat back into the sea, planning to return to the beach and attack again.
Thinking back to the events of that day, I smile. My best friend told me she got that new dog she's always wanted. My brother got an A+ on his test. My Mother got that new promotion

How does it feel to be truly bored?

Tell me darling,
Will we ever meet?

Yes you on that wall,
On that shiny, glossy poster.

Yes you,
In that television screen,
Your eyes so perfect, your face so fine,
With chiseled features of a God's,
Just like a Cullen's, except better.

Yes you,
During that interview,
Your answers directed with ease,
An unerring smile, paused on your pretty lips,
Halted in time-
Seemingly forever.

Yes you,
Acting so dramatically during the action,
So beautifully,
Every word, every phrase, every moment,
Timed and executed-
With perfection.

Yes you,
On that show,

There is no absolute knowledge of why we yawn. Scientists do have a sensible guess. Scientists think we yawn to regulate the level of carbon dioxide and oxygen in the blood. If there is too much carbon dioxide in the blood then we yawn. When we yawn our heart rate goes up, which means our bodies are taking in more oxygen because our heart is pumping more oxygen. So if when you yawn your body takes in more oxygen, then the carbon dioxide is quickly exhaled from the body.

Do you remember
the cottage he offered
to let us rent?
To which
we had happily replied,
"We'll buy it!"

He would not sell,
but nevertheless
was not angered
by our request
so dad proudly proclaimed
we should spend our summer
at the vacation cabin.

I, being curious,
jumped into packing
with my excitable twin brothers.
But my older sisters,
and my mom,
found much less reason to smile
at the prospect
of a summer in the woods.

A smile slips across my face
to remember my favorite night
marked by an odd little stunt
involving several angry crabs

Farming is a hard career to have in this day and age. Especially dairy farming. Now that the price of milk has gone down it is getting even harder to make a profit out of dairy. This is why my dad now has to move away from dairy and is now planting grapes and growing a vineyard. He can sell just the grapes or even make wine. And either way he will make a lot more money doing this than dairy farming. He has planted over eight acres of grape vines.

From the succulent sensation amidst the lakefront,
to the ostentatious mountains which look down upon us,
the spectrum of Vermont is splendid.
Tints of green
swathing every possible structure,
promoting a message that’s so dear to our earth.
Intemperate weather dominates our days,
yet we’re okay with it.

A tender affection amongst the recurring smiles,
the Vermonters are known to be ebullient,
affable people.
Their gratuitous behavior tips towards exasperating,
but inside,
all they want is to make you feel at home.
Vermonters have created a name for themselves.

As I walk alone across the frozen tundra the heavy snow crunches below my every step.
I gaze around at the terrain before me and I feel mesmerized by its immense size.
The frigid cold air of the Arctic burns my throat as I inhale and exhale the air from my lungs.
I wonder if I’ll ever be able to see civilization once more in my short life.

As I scale up the enormous glacier the cold air nips at my hands and toes in hope of making me fall.
If I fall from this height I am surely to have fatal injuries to my head and torso.

My Love,

Sometimes I wonder if you ever really have seen me, if you have ever really wondered about what I think of you. Have you ever seen the pain in my eyes, even though it is so brief, when I see you with her?

cause it's there, every time...

Do you ever look at me and think I'm beautiful? Do you ever wonder why I always find some reason to leave when we start to talk in the halls?

I will not write anymore of love or anything of the sort,
for I do not know the language that I try so bitterly to speak.
My fluency is riddled with distractions and
my tongue knots with the foreign words.
I am lost, but my journey cannot be written into epic poetry.
It can only jumbled and lost in the epitome of teenaged confusion and longing for the
wrong sorts of things.

They were stork-like in silhouette, resembling large birds with concrete limbs, roosting next to the waves. In their heyday they preened themselves and dipped their beaks in the Gulf -- now, they chirrup slowly, shedding their dampened plumage – still staring towards Mexico.

Limpid dark doe
Regal yellow imposing
Brown sweet almond
Hazelnut center and Atlantic ocean
Soft calm lake
Tree bud's green
and

the best for last
your fiery ocean eyes

Math Room
Anneke Jewett
North Branch School, Ription, VT

I sit with my head on my shoulder and my arms stretched out across the table, in the math room. It is math class. A fly buzzes over my head. A sunbeam shines in my eyes, causing me to squint. I see Rose standing at the white board with her short curly blond hair and stormy blue gray eyes.

Washington DC is known as “The Capital of America” for good reasons. Not only is it actually the capital of America, but from the time that you set foot on Washington DC, you can almost feel the history behind each step you take.

A boring second will never pass in DC. The reason many tourists visit DC is a tourist will never truly fill up their schedule during their visit. There are too many things to, places to visit, people (dead or alive) to see, etc. A tour guide is recommended, as they usually know the material like the back of their hand.

The hanger was dark, the air filled with dust that turned the air a grey brown, the only light that lanced in from the huge down filtered down to grey. I was leaning on my broom, the red bristles bowed and frayed, coated in dust and cobwebs. The hanger was empty, for the first time since we had owned it. Gone were the dead dry erase markers, the grease rags, the trash bags, the boxes, and bags.