A crane braves hazardous conditions to complete his first migration The crane cocked his head and sighted the mountains just below, the great Himalayas. They stretched into the horizon, as far as the eye could see. The sun slanted over a peak, giving an eerie green-gray glow to the crisp morning air. The wind was blustery, rushing hard against the crane’s feathers. Sometimes the cold pierced his skin, and he had to shiver to keep warm. His wings were numb with cold, but at the same time were burning with the endless, tedious flapping. As the mountains grew larger, the crane in the front of the formation grew tired. It let itself drift to the back, and the next crane, hesitating at first, flew to the front. Each crane took its turn flying in the apex. It was the crane’s turn to go in the front when the lead crane tired. He stared at her tail, half awake, flapping just when needed. At the beginning of the migration, he had been boisterous while the older cranes had conserved their energy. The crane shook his head; he had heard keee-kee-ke, an eagle’s cry. But there was nothing the flock could do. Their only defense was in numbers. The crane was drifting left too much; he flapped back into position. Suddenly, the flock came into a dense cloud. He shivered as the cold dew clung to his feathers, soaking him to the skin. They flew through the cloud for a very long time, and eventually the exhausted crane at the apex of the V flew towards the rear. It was the crane’s turn. He felt a shocking burst of cold as the wind and water droplets blasted his face. His feathers blew into his eyes, further obscuring his visibility. He flapped on. The clouds seemed endless. He closed his clear eye membrane to shield his eyes from the savage wind. He thought he saw a flash of brown feathers, but dismissed it as a shadow. He persevered through the soaking cloud. Eventually, it was too much for the crane; he started to move back to let another crane take his position. An eagle’s talons ripped the air where the crane had been flying. Realizing its mistake, the eagle dove again. Forgetting his fatigue, hunger, and thirst, the crane swooped right, and the eagle dove past him, snatching up the next crane by the neck. The eagle, clutching its prey, disappeared into the clouds. The crane croaked quietly, in shock. Everything had happened so fast. But the crane was tired. He drift- ed to the back and flew on numbly. His toes were cold, hanging limply behind his tail, exposed to the open air. When eventually they broke through the heavy cloud, the mountains were considerably smaller. When the crane was in the front again, he realized it was less windy. An older crane shrieked the stopping call: kleu-ka-ka-kee. The crane considered the land below. Before him lay an open field with a few cranes already on it, their silvery feathers shining in the warm, golden sunlight. The crane descended, crying out in excitement. He put on a burst of speed, landing on his toes and flapping to keep his balance, his primary feathers brushing against the soft earth. He scanned all around him. There were plenty of plants and seeds, and there was a stream flanking the edge of the field. The crane hopped over to it and gulped water, feeling the cool, refreshing liquid flow down his parched throat. He ruffled his feathers in satisfaction. His instincts told him there were no threats to them in this place. They would have to risk the journey back in spring; for the rest of their lives, they would fly this dangerous route. But, for now, they were safe, and the migration was complete. Sierra Glassman, 13Watsonville, CA
Nature
Nature in My Eyes
Chapter 1 The Seed I am a seed who was planted by Native Americans into the rich, fertile soil of the forest paradise of the wilds of Michigan. Each day, forest would grow, and water would flow, Nature would do its thing. This never-ending cycle of creation was the lifeblood of Mother Earth’s greatest creation, Life. I am Life, and you are Life. Everything that moves, grows, and flourishes is Life. Each day Nature would repeat itself. Soon, I began to grow. I emerged from the fertile soil and saw what appeared to be a blinding ball of fire hanging in the sky. The warmth this object gave me was enough to make me happy. I could feel my sprout growing in this heavenly warmth. Was this the meaning of life and Nature itself? Every day I basked in the object’s warm rays. I then classified this object as God. At night God would lower down out of view, taking his warm rays with him. Then another object would rise up at night, which was not warm and much smaller. It never appeared to take one shape, with a slight change in the structure of the object every night. It had a certain glow, making it seem unnatural and mysterious. I then came to classify this cold object as Gloom. Gloom would calm me down, and allow me to rest. One day at sunrise or what was supposed to be sunrise, I couldn’t see God. He just wasn’t visible. I wondered why and quickly discovered strange floating balls of cotton were blocking out God. I classified these cotton balls as the Shields of Vision. They kept getting darker and darker until, I felt a drop of what I’d never felt before, which was touchable but not solid and broken when touching anything. It made me feel better than when God was out. It felt like nourishment, a soothing drop of liquid. Thundering booms followed the rain. I called these Boomers. The next day when God was visible again, I was especially happy because I have not gone through a day without God until yesterday. God was especially bright for some reason today, and he seemed to outshine Nature itself. A few weeks later I had become a big sprout growing out of the ground. I saw more of the wondrous world upon me, huge lumps of rocks with white peaks, plants of my own kind, trees of a tremendous height. I saw Nature! Nature was beautiful, elegant and grand! A few months later I grew into what Native Americans called “naadą́ą́” or in American language, “corn.” Days went by and I grew taller and taller. Inside the bulb on top of my stalk grew a fine, tender kernel of corn. As the days went by I began to feel older, crinklier. A few months ago, God had bathed me in soothing warmth, but up to this point I felt like he was burning me with inhospitable heat. I felt dry with God visible. I felt burnt and wanted no more. Eventually crows started eating my corn, and a few days later, my corn was an empty cob and fell out. By then I was reduced to nothing but a dry empty stalk lying on the ground. Now I had learned the true meaning of Life: be created, wither away, create, and destroy. I had been created as a seed, created a corn cob, absorbed water, and eventually withered away myself. This was my fate and I was ready to accept it. Chapter 2 The Insect I am a minuscule insect inside an egg, a small egg. These eggs were laid by another of my own kind. I was just a puny creation of Nature and the Universe itself. I would hatch into a marvelous spectacle of Nature. I would discover the meaning of Nature and accomplish what no insect has accomplished before. I was soon to be hatched and discover amazing things, but for now I had to wait a couple of days. A few days later, I hatched, along with the other eggs that were laid by my mother. Each of our tiny limbs and joints emerged from out of the shells from which we were made. This was the first time I had seen the outer world, which was a spectacle of true beauty. I started to walk away from my birthplace, my sisters, and brothers. It was something completely new, something that was almost telling me to solve the mystery. But the mystery of what? The mystery was Nature perhaps, or could I somehow solve myself? The idea of solving mysteries was a pleasant thought to my head. As the days passed, I began to shed my old skin and grow a new one. It may not seem very interesting, and actually it seemed weird, but this is how Nature works. It creates new things and replaces them with newer things. This is Nature. I had settled to a spot 10 miles from my birthplace. I live in a Pine Tree next to a majestic 130-foot high waterfall. At this point I was a decent sized Stag Beetle, and my jaws were two centimeters long each. I had my own territory, and my brothers and sisters had theirs. Occasionally, I found a trespasser and, as usual, I threw them in a place they would never get out of. I was basically the King of Bugs in my domain. But I felt empty, incomplete, and it was like a part of my life was gone before I was born. For some reason, from the start of my life, I wanted to solve a mystery. But this mystery was a mysterious mystery. I myself didn’t even know what this mystery was. When I was roaming around in my domain looking for food, I came across the miracle of life— a deer was being born. I was watching, and felt like I had to find the meaning for
Dancing in the Rain (A Novella)
Dear Reader, Hi! My name is Harper Miller, and I want to be an author when I grow up. I live with my very old dog, Oscar, my Mom and Dad, and my little brother, Theo (with me in the picture above), who is three years younger than me. I started my book on May 11, 2017, when I was 10 and finished on November 27, 2017, and now I am 11. I worked a lot on this book, and I want to say thank you to my Mom and Dad, who helped make this possible. Also, thank you to my editor (and close friend), Mackenzie. You might wonder why I wrote about a girl going through a drought. Here is my answer. I wrote this book to show that a child can make a difference in the world, even when things might be looking pretty bad. Writing this book was one of the many highlights of my life so far. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Sincerely, Harper This book is dedicated to my little brother Theo, for encouraging me to try. Chapter 1: The Beginning “Canadian Beach” by Tessa Papastergiou, 11 I let the curtains wrap me in their warm embrace. I was watching the rain. I mean, who wasn’t? The time was around midnight, and I was shivering from the air conditioning that was cranked up all the way. It was late June, and I would turn 12 this summer. Next year, I would be going into the big sixth grade. First year of middle school. All of a sudden I felt the urge I had been having these last few hot, rainy nights. Not bothering to pull on my raincoat or rain boots, I ran straight out of the curtains and burst out the front door. I ran out into the front yard. I let the cool rain melt down my body, and let the hot, misted air mix with it. I collapsed, and let all my worries, pain, and grief be washed away. And then, the joy came. I leapt up and jumped for joy. I let myself forget the things that had been on my mind for the last couple of days. I danced, and danced, and danced until the sun began to rise just the slightest bit. Then I crept back inside, and back up the stairs. I stepped into my bedroom, and I stood there shivering, until my senses jolted back to me, and I crept back into my bed. The next morning when I walked down the steps and into the kitchen, the first thing I heard was, “Ayita, were you dancing again!? I can tell because your hair and nightgown are soaked, and you are covered in mud!” “Papa, you know I like to dance. My name means first to dance,” I replied in my best-little-girl-in-the-world voice. My father sighed. “What am I going to do with you, Ayita?” he said softly. “Please go take a shower and wash your nightgown.” “Okay Papa,” I said, equally softly. I turned around and headed back upstairs. An hour later, I was back downstairs. I walked back into the kitchen, and sat down at the table. A bowl of cold gray mush sat at my spot. A little note was slipped underneath it. It read: “I have decided to work in my study for the rest of the day, so please leave after breakfast and don’t return until dinner time. Don’t get into any trouble or you’re grounded.” I sighed, picked up the bowl of gray mush, carried it over to the sink, and dumped it out. Next, I got down one of my mother’s old cookbooks and began to flip through it. Just a few minutes later, I had decided on a good breakfast meal. Soon, I had a hot, steaming bowl of apple-cinnamon oatmeal. Just 10 minutes later, I was walking down the sidewalk all the way on the other side of town. I was heading to what was (in my opinion) the best place ever. When I reached my little hideaway, I began to have some fun. The place I liked to hang out was a big clearing of grass that was set back from the road and hidden by a thick blanket of trees. There was even a swimming hole. But what I liked the most was the big, wire fence that surrounded the place. It was not made of barbed wire, so it was safe to climb up. It made me feel as though it was just my place. It made me feel like home. Chapter 2: I Go to a Forbidden Restaurant If someone were to go to my secret place right now, they would see a girl in jean shorts and a tank top, and that girl would have dark skin and long, straight, black hair. She would have bright-green eyes, just like her mother. That girl would be me. I thought about this for a moment, and then jumped up and raced over to the basket that I had brought along. I had already devoured my picnic lunch, and I was now looking for my kite. When I pulled out the kite, I felt a pang of sadness go through my body, because as I looked at the kite, a rush of memories flooded my mind. And I saw in my mind a little scene playing out. I saw a little girl sitting on the floor of our kitchen. Sitting next to her was a young woman who looked exactly like me. We were decorating a bright-red kite, and on the kite we had written my name in multicolor sparkle glue and markers. I knew that little girl was me, and that young woman was my mother. I sighed, picked up the kite, and began to unspool the thread. When the kite was as spread out as it could be, I began to run. As I walked home, I
