Nonfiction

I live on Garey Road in Thetford, Vermont. It's a dirt road, and it has a dead end, which isn't too common around here. The road has another road coming off of it called Apple Tree Road, which is also dirt, and also a dead end.

     With the final touch of trimming their Christmas tree, my parents had finished setting up and decorating for Christmas at last.

In the heart of Addison County, Vermont, lies Lincoln, a postcard town rich with history. 

North Thetford, a cozy little neighborhood nestled in the heart of Vermont, is a hidden gem waiting to be discovered.

Author’s note: This is a revised version of my 2020 posting “a sap drips life” to reflect my improved grammatical and linguistic skills, changes to the maple sugaring process, and my improved unders

It’s a beautiful snowy day, actually it’s a snow day. I love when a Monday is a snow day, not just because I don’t love my classes on Monday, but because Mondays are exhausting.

The ancient wooden table.

The dining room table my family gathered at tonight to enjoy a meal together. 

But before my first bite of chicken reaches my mouth, I hear my mom tell my dad:

In the late summer evenings, before the sun has set, gravestones cast long shadows in the cemetery by my house. 

Watching them sit alone inside the cafeteria, isolated in their new school, I remained at my obnoxiously crowded table, a body of laughter and chatter amidst a sea of foot traffic.

Many people express themselves in their own way. I draw, and express myself through the means of painting. I like to paint in my spare time.

“Qué será mi pobre patria oscura?” 

“What will become of my poor, dark country?” - from “Insomnia” by Pablo Neruda