Congratulations to the YWP writers who were selected by Vermont Stage for this year's Winter Tales! Vermont Stage will present the writers' work at seven different performances at Main Street Landing's Black Box Theatre, Burlington, from Dec. 11-15. Read on to see the winning submissions and the dates of their performances. All writers will receive two complimentary tickets to Winter Tales. Interested in Winter Tales? Find out more here and buy tickets!
Winter Tales 2019
Presented by Vermont Stage, Main Street Landing, Burlington, VT
Wednesday, Dec 11, 2019 at 7:30pm
Promise
By Chase Ehrlich
Age 13
Montpelier, VT
The brown grass crunches under your feet as you walk into the desolate field. All is silent. It’s that in-between time of year, when animals have burrowed into the ground, ready for winter, and frost covers the land. It’s the time of year when it’s too cold for autumn, but the snow has yet to fall.
Now, all seems dead. No flowers flourish under the bright sun, and no leaves rustle gently in the warm breeze. Instead, the flowers curl over, brown and fragile, and the leaves lie lifeless in their final resting places under the trees where they once thrived. The mid-afternoon sun is hidden behind a thick veil of clouds that spreads across the sky, trapping everyone under its reach in a cold, gray prison.
You blow into your hands in an attempt to warm them, but to no avail. The temperature is dropping. A lone crow lets out a long, solemn caw -- an attempt to fill the void of silence. You fix your hat and start toward the winding path that leads through the forest and, eventually, takes you home.
As you walk, you notice a single, brown leaf clinging to a thin branch. As you watch it, a cold breeze rushes past you, momentarily exciting the lifeless flora around your feet. The trees around you start swaying gently, and the thin branch finally lets go. The wind dies down. The leaf drifts to the ground slowly, the last remnants of autumn finally surrendering to the cold.
Suddenly, something stands out against the gray sky. You smile. An intricate array of delicate lines folds away from the center of a small, glistening flake. Your stomach loosens. You feel the world release the breath it had been holding onto for many months. The snowflake floats toward the ground lightheartedly, twirling through the air, and finally drifts calmly onto the ground. This small flake, seemingly insignificant, means so much more than just a small piece of ice. It’s a flake of promise.
Just Wondering
By Anna Dauerman
Age 12
Shelburne, VT
I can't wait for winter,
for the time when I wake up
and I hear my Mom tell me
that it's a snow day,
when I can charge down the hallway,
and practically slam down
my sister's door.
"Wanna cross-country ski?"
But, I'm just wondering,
which winter will be our last
good year of skiing?
Which will be the year,
where by the time that we
wake up, the snow will be slushy?
I'm just wondering
if I have a kid, whether or not
they will be able to learn
to cross-country ski in the same
backyard that I learned from.
The backyard where I grew up
watching my sisters sled down hills,
making paths to ski on,
and building forts in the snow.
I'm just wondering
how it'll feel when I have kids,
the moment when they
look me straight in my eyes
and ask me what ever happened
to the beautiful woods.
I'm just wondering
why isn't there a mandatory
class about what is happening
to our Earth because
of human impact?
I'm just wondering
why there aren't rules and laws
to protect our Earth from
the major destruction
we've caused.
My biggest question is,
what if there isn't an answer?
What if there is too much
carbon dioxide already
contained in our Earth?
I'm just wondering what you think
I'm supposed to tell the generation
that comes after me?
That I didn't do anything to help?
I don't think so.
But, I'm just wondering.
Thursday, Dec 12, 2019 at 7:30pm
As Fall is Stolen
By Ruth Knox
Age 10
Essex Junction, VT
The tree’s jewels are stolen,
the leaves already fallen are swept up
by the chilling breeze.
The barren trees become layered in snow
as the army of frozen snowflakes
fills the silvery sky with flurries of chalky white.
The warmth is shoved away
by the wind,
and the sun is stolen
from the graying sky,
earlier and earlier.
As the earth orbits
further away, the only light left
is the crackling fire,
made not by the earth
but made by us.
As fall is stolen by winter,
everything changes
Winter Paint
By Emma Paris
Age 13
Putney, VT
When the first frosts come,
warning of what's to come,
the people sigh.
And when the first
snowflake challenges the air,
the people rush inside.
When the skin of snow finally
settles on the quiet ground,
the people stay inside,
but not me.
I sigh in marveling wonder at the cold
blankets of ice folding themselves
over the hills and valleys.
I rush outside to witness the first fall of snow.
I stay outside, the freezing wind
scraping my cheeks, brushing
them pink with her pastels.
Tracks follow tracks,
hunting the night through my yard.
All between the winter days and nights,
I sleep in a cocoon of waiting,
a butterfly evolving to warmth,
a time of recognition
to rest and regenerate.
And when the end of winter begins,
I listen to the music of the melting snow
Drip...drip...drip...drip!
Snow crashes in clumps to return to the earth.
I return too.
I let my hair down in the spring breeze,
sharing my joy,
loving and living through the ups and downs of humanity,
waiting for time to catch up.
Friday, Dec 13, 2019 at 7:30pm
Winter Magic
Eden Anne Bauer
Age 15
Hanover, NH
There’s something so magical
about a New England winter.
I don’t know if it’s the way the snow falls,
one night in November,
all at once:
a softy, downy blanket over the rolling hills
and woods,
or how
the lakes freeze over
and are soon covered in the tracks
of ice skates,
or how
one of those wintry nights, everyone
is safe and warm in their own houses, yet
watching the same snowfall,
down,
down,
down,
together.
Or perhaps it’s how,
when I step outside one day,
a thousand falling snowflakes
surround me,
the wind blowing them
this way and that,
swirling and spiraling over the landscape
in its glittering winter glory.
At night, the moon softly illuminates
their dance,
and snowflakes streak solid white
against the dark trees,
past the car windows.
I’d always pretend I was in Star Wars
and we were going into hyperspace,
speeding past the stars —
In the daytime, the sun shines bright,
reflecting on the icy crystals below,
blinding all who dare venture outside,
or a pensive student glancing out a window —
My favorite time in winter, though, is
sitting in front of a fire, with a book,
listening to my own thoughts
for awhile,
in rhythm with the crackling
of the flames,
as big, soft, fluffy snowflakes fall outside,
tucking all of nature in
for a peaceful night’s sleep.
Maybe we all have our own magic —
unique, just like every individual snowflake
that falls from the sky
to the ground below.
And when all our magic intertwines,
the howling of the wind
in a winter storm
suddenly turns beautiful,
and sings through the trees.
I sit by the fire
and watch the snowflakes fall
down,
down,
down;
my sister makes me laugh
and a tingling warmth
spreads from my head
to my fingertips
to my toes.
Surrounded by friends
and family —
that’s where
my magic is found.
The Beauty of Winter
By Isabelle Chen
Age 15
Bradford, VT
We often forget that winter is a resting period for nature around us.
Trees shed their leaves,
animals hibernate beneath our feet,
and colors give way to duller tones.
We may be trudging along in our sluggish boots,
wondering why today doesn’t look like a winter wonderland.
But just remember that nature is resetting itself for success.
So when springtime comes around, you’ll see how truly stunning it is when nature flourishes.
That’s the real beauty of winter:
Resting, resetting, and preparing.
So when things get rough around the edges
or a storm is brewing in,
lie back for awhile and go about it one step at a time --
just like winter does every year.
Saturday, December 14 at 2pm
This is Winter
By Izzy O’Donnell
Age 13
Hinesburg, VT
Cold air bites at my bare fingers,
and tiny flakes of ice flutter down from the bleak, cloudy sky.
Like grains of sand in an hourglass.
Time slips away in a haze of frigid winds
and hides beneath a blanket of pale white powder.
Trees sheathe themselves in coats of ice,
and seeds borough deeper into their subterranean homes.
Hot chocolate greets rosy-cheeked children,
weary from playing in piles of ice cold clouds.
This is winter.
Animals hunt.
Crimson blood spilled on white canvas.
A stomach is filled.
Frozen lakes,
giant tanks frosted over.
Fish and frogs down below.
Rugged mountains,
harsh and unforgiving,
paint a pretty picture
if you don't live there.
This is winter.
Stretching on for months,
feigning spring, time after time,
till it finally comes.
Long ago memories
of hurling snow at each other
and laughing hysterically
in the cold Christmas weather.
This is winter.
Cold on the best of days,
glacial on the worst,
so cold that when you start to warm up again
it kind of starts to hurt.
This is winter.
This is Vermont.
This is home.
This is winter.
You know, it snowed the day I was born.
Snow White
By Oona Osborne
Age 9
Essex Junction, VT
I wake up --
there is snow on the ground!
There is snow falling!
So much snow,
I know I will not go to school today!
I get dressed.
I get my coat,
and my mittens
and my hat.
I look
at all the snow --
fresh new snow,
perfectly white snow.
I can feel the wind
and cold, raw snow
blowing on my face,
and sticking to my pink hat,
now with white specks.
Through my coat,
I feel the coldness on my back.
I look at the snow again.
I know that the snow
will not be white
for long --
but yellow, brown, and slushy.
But right now,
the snow is perfect.
Right now,
the snow is white.
Saturday, December 14 at 7:30pm
Sweet Silence of Winter
By Noell Koslowsky
Age 15
Wells River, VT
Winter is about the simple things:
Like admiring that perfect, little flake of snow that landed on your hand and watching it slowly melt away until it’s just a tiny water droplet slithering its way down your hand.
Or when you are waiting for the school bus and you take a long breath of fresh, crisp air and exhale to see the beautiful, hazy, white veil of your carbon dioxide slowly appear in front of you.
Watching your favorite maple tree that is at the center of your backyard lose its very last vivid red leaf, then looking around to realize that all of the beautiful reds and oranges and yellows are gone, only to be replaced by a blinding white blanket of snow that stretches as far as the eye can see.
Seeing the coniferous trees slowly grow and inevitably make their way to a family’s home to be decorated with bulbs and tinsel for the holiday season.
At the end of every beautiful day you sit and listen to the earth, and you hear nothing but the sound of your own chest rising and falling. You look and you can only see the white blanket of snow covering the ground, masking all of the creatures that are in hibernation.
The world is peaceful with everything at rest, taking a break after the long year. When spring rolls around, you will get back the lively vibrant world you have always known.
But until then you only have the sweet silence of winter.
A Small Description of Winter (To Me)
By Kelly Daigle
Age 16
Bradford, VT
Winter is the smell of pine and Christmas trees,
the brightness of stars in the dark, cold sky.
It is the sting of too many snowballs formed in hands,
the warmth of a blanket while watching cheesy movies.
Winter is the taste of gingerbread and apple cider,
the feeling of scratchy scarves under your chin,
to shovel heavy slosh over your shoulder,
and notice bright red berries in the snow.
Winter is the desire for the season of frost,
and then the yearning for spring a month later.
It is the season of family and friends,
of sharing food and gifts and smiles.
Winter is that feeling of timelessness,
the freezing of sand in an hourglass.
Winter is the inevitable promise
of dragon breath clouds and red cheeks,
cinnamon and hot cocoa,
glistening ham and candy canes,
the crack of ice and layers of snow,
the scrape of frost on car windows.
Winter is approaching --
and Vermont is ready!
Sunday, December 15 at 2pm
Being a Christmas Tree
By Jada Sherman
Age 10
Essex Junction, VT
If I were a tree, I’d stand tall in the corner
waiting to be decorated for the month of December.
Jingle jingle . . . I’d hear a box of ornaments,
and I’d have a BIG smile on my face.
My arms would hold the weight,
as handprints, animals, and memories of
years gone by would be placed among my needles.
Cold would whooosh down my back,
as I drank a big glass of water.
Before bed, the cats would play with my ornaments,
and bat them with their paws,
sometimes jumping into my branches.
Bang — bang — crash!
I would fall to the ground,
until I was helped up,
and redecorated for Christmas Day.
Just Me, The Sled, and the Hill
By Colin Hughes
Age 8
Essex Junction, VT
The hill may be long,
the jump may be high,
my friends may try to stop me --
but they can't!
Nothing can stop me from doing this.
They decide to move out of my way.
I am ready to go down!
There may be bumps, but that won't stop me.
It's just me, the sled, and the hill.
I speed down the hill
Whoooooooosh!
I launch myself into the air
until
THUD.
I lie still
and look at the sky until
faces block the light.
“You okay, man?”
Thumbs up!
Sunday, December 15 at 6pm
Happy Winter
By Katelyn Johnson
Age 14
Chelsea, VT
Winter is my favorite season.
I love the snow more than I hate the cold.
I love shaking trees full of snow while standing under them,
rolling down a hill, trying to get covered in snow until I look like a snowman.
Snow covers the dead leaves and crops.
Everything out there that looked dirty is suddenly pure white.
Snow has a refreshing but distinct taste.
People think I’m crazy, but, to me, fresh snow tastes like cucumbers.
I love the scraping of plows against the road every day at 5 a.m.
It’s playful and happy.
It lets me know there is fresh snow, another layer to the already two-foot-high blanket.
When my dad plows snow in the driveway,
he makes a huge pile of snow for me, even though I’m 14 years old.
I love looking out the window at the icicles, then looking back a week later,
astonished at how large and mighty they have become --
but it only takes a small push to knock them down.
Everything about winter is beautiful.
Icicles
By Ruby Hoffman
Age 10
Essex Junction, VT
I run around
to the back
of my house.
And hanging from
a tree branch are...
Icicles!
Clear like glass,
Dripping
Dropping
Clinking.
I tap one, and then another,
and even with the
smallest touch,
they sway
and fall
and leave
holes in the snow.
They grow
as winter goes on.
A wind picks up
and blows them,
making the small ones
dive
perfectly
into the snow.
Winter Tales 2019
Presented by Vermont Stage, Main Street Landing, Burlington, VT
Wednesday, Dec 11, 2019 at 7:30pm
Promise
By Chase Ehrlich
Age 13
Montpelier, VT
The brown grass crunches under your feet as you walk into the desolate field. All is silent. It’s that in-between time of year, when animals have burrowed into the ground, ready for winter, and frost covers the land. It’s the time of year when it’s too cold for autumn, but the snow has yet to fall.
Now, all seems dead. No flowers flourish under the bright sun, and no leaves rustle gently in the warm breeze. Instead, the flowers curl over, brown and fragile, and the leaves lie lifeless in their final resting places under the trees where they once thrived. The mid-afternoon sun is hidden behind a thick veil of clouds that spreads across the sky, trapping everyone under its reach in a cold, gray prison.
You blow into your hands in an attempt to warm them, but to no avail. The temperature is dropping. A lone crow lets out a long, solemn caw -- an attempt to fill the void of silence. You fix your hat and start toward the winding path that leads through the forest and, eventually, takes you home.
As you walk, you notice a single, brown leaf clinging to a thin branch. As you watch it, a cold breeze rushes past you, momentarily exciting the lifeless flora around your feet. The trees around you start swaying gently, and the thin branch finally lets go. The wind dies down. The leaf drifts to the ground slowly, the last remnants of autumn finally surrendering to the cold.
Suddenly, something stands out against the gray sky. You smile. An intricate array of delicate lines folds away from the center of a small, glistening flake. Your stomach loosens. You feel the world release the breath it had been holding onto for many months. The snowflake floats toward the ground lightheartedly, twirling through the air, and finally drifts calmly onto the ground. This small flake, seemingly insignificant, means so much more than just a small piece of ice. It’s a flake of promise.
Just Wondering
By Anna Dauerman
Age 12
Shelburne, VT
I can't wait for winter,
for the time when I wake up
and I hear my Mom tell me
that it's a snow day,
when I can charge down the hallway,
and practically slam down
my sister's door.
"Wanna cross-country ski?"
But, I'm just wondering,
which winter will be our last
good year of skiing?
Which will be the year,
where by the time that we
wake up, the snow will be slushy?
I'm just wondering
if I have a kid, whether or not
they will be able to learn
to cross-country ski in the same
backyard that I learned from.
The backyard where I grew up
watching my sisters sled down hills,
making paths to ski on,
and building forts in the snow.
I'm just wondering
how it'll feel when I have kids,
the moment when they
look me straight in my eyes
and ask me what ever happened
to the beautiful woods.
I'm just wondering
why isn't there a mandatory
class about what is happening
to our Earth because
of human impact?
I'm just wondering
why there aren't rules and laws
to protect our Earth from
the major destruction
we've caused.
My biggest question is,
what if there isn't an answer?
What if there is too much
carbon dioxide already
contained in our Earth?
I'm just wondering what you think
I'm supposed to tell the generation
that comes after me?
That I didn't do anything to help?
I don't think so.
But, I'm just wondering.
Thursday, Dec 12, 2019 at 7:30pm
As Fall is Stolen
By Ruth Knox
Age 10
Essex Junction, VT
The tree’s jewels are stolen,
the leaves already fallen are swept up
by the chilling breeze.
The barren trees become layered in snow
as the army of frozen snowflakes
fills the silvery sky with flurries of chalky white.
The warmth is shoved away
by the wind,
and the sun is stolen
from the graying sky,
earlier and earlier.
As the earth orbits
further away, the only light left
is the crackling fire,
made not by the earth
but made by us.
As fall is stolen by winter,
everything changes
Winter Paint
By Emma Paris
Age 13
Putney, VT
When the first frosts come,
warning of what's to come,
the people sigh.
And when the first
snowflake challenges the air,
the people rush inside.
When the skin of snow finally
settles on the quiet ground,
the people stay inside,
but not me.
I sigh in marveling wonder at the cold
blankets of ice folding themselves
over the hills and valleys.
I rush outside to witness the first fall of snow.
I stay outside, the freezing wind
scraping my cheeks, brushing
them pink with her pastels.
Tracks follow tracks,
hunting the night through my yard.
All between the winter days and nights,
I sleep in a cocoon of waiting,
a butterfly evolving to warmth,
a time of recognition
to rest and regenerate.
And when the end of winter begins,
I listen to the music of the melting snow
Drip...drip...drip...drip!
Snow crashes in clumps to return to the earth.
I return too.
I let my hair down in the spring breeze,
sharing my joy,
loving and living through the ups and downs of humanity,
waiting for time to catch up.
Friday, Dec 13, 2019 at 7:30pm
Winter Magic
Eden Anne Bauer
Age 15
Hanover, NH
There’s something so magical
about a New England winter.
I don’t know if it’s the way the snow falls,
one night in November,
all at once:
a softy, downy blanket over the rolling hills
and woods,
or how
the lakes freeze over
and are soon covered in the tracks
of ice skates,
or how
one of those wintry nights, everyone
is safe and warm in their own houses, yet
watching the same snowfall,
down,
down,
down,
together.
Or perhaps it’s how,
when I step outside one day,
a thousand falling snowflakes
surround me,
the wind blowing them
this way and that,
swirling and spiraling over the landscape
in its glittering winter glory.
At night, the moon softly illuminates
their dance,
and snowflakes streak solid white
against the dark trees,
past the car windows.
I’d always pretend I was in Star Wars
and we were going into hyperspace,
speeding past the stars —
In the daytime, the sun shines bright,
reflecting on the icy crystals below,
blinding all who dare venture outside,
or a pensive student glancing out a window —
My favorite time in winter, though, is
sitting in front of a fire, with a book,
listening to my own thoughts
for awhile,
in rhythm with the crackling
of the flames,
as big, soft, fluffy snowflakes fall outside,
tucking all of nature in
for a peaceful night’s sleep.
Maybe we all have our own magic —
unique, just like every individual snowflake
that falls from the sky
to the ground below.
And when all our magic intertwines,
the howling of the wind
in a winter storm
suddenly turns beautiful,
and sings through the trees.
I sit by the fire
and watch the snowflakes fall
down,
down,
down;
my sister makes me laugh
and a tingling warmth
spreads from my head
to my fingertips
to my toes.
Surrounded by friends
and family —
that’s where
my magic is found.
The Beauty of Winter
By Isabelle Chen
Age 15
Bradford, VT
We often forget that winter is a resting period for nature around us.
Trees shed their leaves,
animals hibernate beneath our feet,
and colors give way to duller tones.
We may be trudging along in our sluggish boots,
wondering why today doesn’t look like a winter wonderland.
But just remember that nature is resetting itself for success.
So when springtime comes around, you’ll see how truly stunning it is when nature flourishes.
That’s the real beauty of winter:
Resting, resetting, and preparing.
So when things get rough around the edges
or a storm is brewing in,
lie back for awhile and go about it one step at a time --
just like winter does every year.
Saturday, December 14 at 2pm
This is Winter
By Izzy O’Donnell
Age 13
Hinesburg, VT
Cold air bites at my bare fingers,
and tiny flakes of ice flutter down from the bleak, cloudy sky.
Like grains of sand in an hourglass.
Time slips away in a haze of frigid winds
and hides beneath a blanket of pale white powder.
Trees sheathe themselves in coats of ice,
and seeds borough deeper into their subterranean homes.
Hot chocolate greets rosy-cheeked children,
weary from playing in piles of ice cold clouds.
This is winter.
Animals hunt.
Crimson blood spilled on white canvas.
A stomach is filled.
Frozen lakes,
giant tanks frosted over.
Fish and frogs down below.
Rugged mountains,
harsh and unforgiving,
paint a pretty picture
if you don't live there.
This is winter.
Stretching on for months,
feigning spring, time after time,
till it finally comes.
Long ago memories
of hurling snow at each other
and laughing hysterically
in the cold Christmas weather.
This is winter.
Cold on the best of days,
glacial on the worst,
so cold that when you start to warm up again
it kind of starts to hurt.
This is winter.
This is Vermont.
This is home.
This is winter.
You know, it snowed the day I was born.
Snow White
By Oona Osborne
Age 9
Essex Junction, VT
I wake up --
there is snow on the ground!
There is snow falling!
So much snow,
I know I will not go to school today!
I get dressed.
I get my coat,
and my mittens
and my hat.
I look
at all the snow --
fresh new snow,
perfectly white snow.
I can feel the wind
and cold, raw snow
blowing on my face,
and sticking to my pink hat,
now with white specks.
Through my coat,
I feel the coldness on my back.
I look at the snow again.
I know that the snow
will not be white
for long --
but yellow, brown, and slushy.
But right now,
the snow is perfect.
Right now,
the snow is white.
Saturday, December 14 at 7:30pm
Sweet Silence of Winter
By Noell Koslowsky
Age 15
Wells River, VT
Winter is about the simple things:
Like admiring that perfect, little flake of snow that landed on your hand and watching it slowly melt away until it’s just a tiny water droplet slithering its way down your hand.
Or when you are waiting for the school bus and you take a long breath of fresh, crisp air and exhale to see the beautiful, hazy, white veil of your carbon dioxide slowly appear in front of you.
Watching your favorite maple tree that is at the center of your backyard lose its very last vivid red leaf, then looking around to realize that all of the beautiful reds and oranges and yellows are gone, only to be replaced by a blinding white blanket of snow that stretches as far as the eye can see.
Seeing the coniferous trees slowly grow and inevitably make their way to a family’s home to be decorated with bulbs and tinsel for the holiday season.
At the end of every beautiful day you sit and listen to the earth, and you hear nothing but the sound of your own chest rising and falling. You look and you can only see the white blanket of snow covering the ground, masking all of the creatures that are in hibernation.
The world is peaceful with everything at rest, taking a break after the long year. When spring rolls around, you will get back the lively vibrant world you have always known.
But until then you only have the sweet silence of winter.
A Small Description of Winter (To Me)
By Kelly Daigle
Age 16
Bradford, VT
Winter is the smell of pine and Christmas trees,
the brightness of stars in the dark, cold sky.
It is the sting of too many snowballs formed in hands,
the warmth of a blanket while watching cheesy movies.
Winter is the taste of gingerbread and apple cider,
the feeling of scratchy scarves under your chin,
to shovel heavy slosh over your shoulder,
and notice bright red berries in the snow.
Winter is the desire for the season of frost,
and then the yearning for spring a month later.
It is the season of family and friends,
of sharing food and gifts and smiles.
Winter is that feeling of timelessness,
the freezing of sand in an hourglass.
Winter is the inevitable promise
of dragon breath clouds and red cheeks,
cinnamon and hot cocoa,
glistening ham and candy canes,
the crack of ice and layers of snow,
the scrape of frost on car windows.
Winter is approaching --
and Vermont is ready!
Sunday, December 15 at 2pm
Being a Christmas Tree
By Jada Sherman
Age 10
Essex Junction, VT
If I were a tree, I’d stand tall in the corner
waiting to be decorated for the month of December.
Jingle jingle . . . I’d hear a box of ornaments,
and I’d have a BIG smile on my face.
My arms would hold the weight,
as handprints, animals, and memories of
years gone by would be placed among my needles.
Cold would whooosh down my back,
as I drank a big glass of water.
Before bed, the cats would play with my ornaments,
and bat them with their paws,
sometimes jumping into my branches.
Bang — bang — crash!
I would fall to the ground,
until I was helped up,
and redecorated for Christmas Day.
Just Me, The Sled, and the Hill
By Colin Hughes
Age 8
Essex Junction, VT
The hill may be long,
the jump may be high,
my friends may try to stop me --
but they can't!
Nothing can stop me from doing this.
They decide to move out of my way.
I am ready to go down!
There may be bumps, but that won't stop me.
It's just me, the sled, and the hill.
I speed down the hill
Whoooooooosh!
I launch myself into the air
until
THUD.
I lie still
and look at the sky until
faces block the light.
“You okay, man?”
Thumbs up!
Sunday, December 15 at 6pm
Happy Winter
By Katelyn Johnson
Age 14
Chelsea, VT
Winter is my favorite season.
I love the snow more than I hate the cold.
I love shaking trees full of snow while standing under them,
rolling down a hill, trying to get covered in snow until I look like a snowman.
Snow covers the dead leaves and crops.
Everything out there that looked dirty is suddenly pure white.
Snow has a refreshing but distinct taste.
People think I’m crazy, but, to me, fresh snow tastes like cucumbers.
I love the scraping of plows against the road every day at 5 a.m.
It’s playful and happy.
It lets me know there is fresh snow, another layer to the already two-foot-high blanket.
When my dad plows snow in the driveway,
he makes a huge pile of snow for me, even though I’m 14 years old.
I love looking out the window at the icicles, then looking back a week later,
astonished at how large and mighty they have become --
but it only takes a small push to knock them down.
Everything about winter is beautiful.
Icicles
By Ruby Hoffman
Age 10
Essex Junction, VT
I run around
to the back
of my house.
And hanging from
a tree branch are...
Icicles!
Clear like glass,
Dripping
Dropping
Clinking.
I tap one, and then another,
and even with the
smallest touch,
they sway
and fall
and leave
holes in the snow.
They grow
as winter goes on.
A wind picks up
and blows them,
making the small ones
dive
perfectly
into the snow.
Event Date:
Wednesday, December 11, 2019
Attachment:
- YWP's blog
- Sprout
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Inkpaw
Nov 12, 2019
congrats everybody! this so awesome!