An olive laced wind dances
Across red shingled roofs
The sun aloof
In this tepid sort of evening.

Salt dots the air
Nearby evening prayer
Slips down golden hills
And settles in the vineyards.

Blue and white and ancient shimmer
Flutter from flag poles
Foggy in the glittery haze
The end of the day glaze.

The birds raise their voices
In honor of the falling sun
And so forth a friendship spun
A song of life and nature. 

Peace lies and the land sighs
In the infancy of a tranquil evening
Nestled by the sea. 

Parkinson’s disease can be caused by a variety of genetic mutations. One damages PINK1, a protein that sticks to the tops of damaged mitochondria, tagging them to be broken down. Spring of my sophomore year bio class I had the opportunity to dig into the genetic and biochemical mechanisms behind Parkinson’s disease. Armed with a school-issued Chromebook, a world of scientific papers lay at my hands. With the gifted of hours of free class time, I had the space to dissect the text, taking full advantage of Google and control find. Pencil sketches and teacher-scrawled questions guided me along the mind-blowing path of biology and my questions popped up like branches on a tree. For the first time, I had the freedom to follow those questions, self-designing research to fit my interests. I had stuck my feet into the river of personalized learning and was prepared to let it sweep me onward.

On a crunchy, cheek-reddening morning
I shoved open my ice crusted door
And ventured forth into the pillowy landscape.

As I walked southward, into the crown of the trees,
A frosty butterfly flapped its way
Onto my purple pompom. 

It was vibrant blue
Adorned with black rivers
And reminded me of the earth. 

But it had these ice crystals
Threaded upon its winds
That seemed to weigh it down,
Or perhaps just petrify it,
Preventing any type of progress.

So, I pulled off my gloves
And cradled the butterfly
With bare, human hands.

I allowed myself to seep
Into those promising wings.

The crystals retreated
And the black rivers
Began to flow.
The world came alive. 

Excitement spiked through my hands
I held on more tightly
For, look at the wonderful
Impact a human can have!

The black rivers raged

 

I have 17 flowers on my head
For each of the 16 years I've lived
and one for the year that is to be.

Some are shriveled up by now,
or may I say preserved 
In their barest, waterless state.
Rosy pigmentation wiped away
a quilt of black and white photographs.

Those middle years have retained
structure, color, and a bit of spring
One can dive in and still imagine
the fullness of the year.

As for the most recent
Bees still dip in and out collecting
sweet, dripping nectar
Tails brushing bright pollen memories. 

The tail end is adorned with a little button
of a peach pink bud
Which has only begun to peek
out of it's promising leathery shell.

All these flowers are
gently studded among a twisting vine
Woven into a graceful, but sturdy flower crown
Which can be found perched upon the tip of my head
at any time or place.



 

I was walking in a garden one day
and a little girl turned to me
Eyes sparkling in beauty she said
Soft and delicate
“I want to be a butterfly one day”.

Straight out of a fairytale
Barely brushing a purple daffodil
Was a paper thin
vibrant blue butterfly.
Soaking in the summer sun
Dancing lazily
in toasting air
Enjoying the possibility of flight.

I looked at her
Eyes tracing curled golden pigtails
Floating tulle dress
A soft hope
of 4 cakes of birthday wishes
I said,
With all the grit I could muster,
“You better wish you’ll be a bat one day”
Her eyebrows brushed the sky.

“Grow thick leathery wings
That can’t be torn by a sandwich toothpick”
I proclaimed

“And bare those nasty
Pointed yellow fangs
With all the pride in the world
For you’re going to have to dig them in one day.
File your claws to perfection!

I wrote this piece about my time in Israel to share a different story of a land I love. Often times, what people know about Israel is filtered through the news which, for the most part, only picks up the negatives. Through the time I have spent there I have discovered a rich and incredible country that embraces diversity, culture, and hope. While there is much that I believe can be improved upon, I am proud of my connection to Israel and wished to share that. This piece can also be viewed as a broader statement emphasizing that conflict does not define a country. It’s important to honor the traditions, people, and culture of all countries and listen to individual stories. Danger lies in generalization.
  
Big plane, big wings
And small seats
Jammed together like packing peanuts in a moving box
Sweaty thighs sticking
Long nights of flight map watching

“We have entered Israeli airspace, please remain seated”