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Fresh pine
and dust in the wind
with a touch
of flowers and sage
and the faraway glimmer
of Lake Alpine.

We’ve risen above
most of everything
and all of civilization
has abandoned us.

A hawk soars
in the thin air.
I think I am
that hawk.

I kick over a rock
and dirt enters my shoe.
The smell of trees
never fades.

Julia Marcus, 13
Culver City, CA