Ella reflects on the lessons she learned over the past school year While I was riding home during a car ride on the last day of school, I gave myself a question: “Do I think this school year was worth it for all the time that passed?” I thought that I should be able to have an answer, so I recalled every single moment that I experienced during the school year. I gave myself a reasonable answer for my question. “Yes.” Right after the word left my lips, I tried to find reasons to back up my answer. I reflected on everything that happened and found out I had changed a lot over the year. The changes in my height, my friendships, and appearance are all small. The biggest changes that I have made are to my maturity level, self-discipline, and my confidence in standing up to bullies. At the beginning of the year I was childish, and since I wanted to be liked, I tried acting “cute,” but this only showed me to be a silly and childish person. I have learned that it only makes people not take me seriously and makes me lose other people’s respect. If I want to show the mature side of me, I have to be just myself— normal myself. I don’t have to act silly, because silliness is different from humor. Another problem I had was self-discipline. I was a laidback kid. Even when there lay an easiest-worksheet-in-the-world in front of me, I still took twenty minutes to finish because I was not focused and always reading a book, playing around with my hair, making some crafts, or doing anything else that distracted me from my work. During the year, I learned that if I’m always going to regret this someday when I’m bigger and it will be too late to fix my mistakes at that time, why don’t I just start to have a willing-to-work attitude and become motivated now? I took that question to push myself into becoming focused, giving myself more work, and doing whatever’s best for my future. At last, I was scared to defend myself in front of bullies for a long time. My mom and I talked it over many times, but whenever the bullying started again, I always couldn’t speak up and let the bullies walk over me. I also couldn’t figure out why some girls at my school excluded me. I was depressed for a while. Finally I learned to say “stop it!” when the bullying happened. As for the excluding issue, I found out that my interests were different from these girls’. They liked bloody and violent things, and I enjoyed literature and nature, so I couldn’t join their conversation. I learned that it wasn’t worth my time to talk about zombies, monsters, and vampires. I decided that I would continue on my path and just ignore them. As you can see, I did change a lot this year, and I hope you can learn from my experience too.
Fire
It blazes Like an animal Trapped in a cage Its flames Reach up Grabbing the sky Its heart Is deep yellow Like the sun Darker fire Is uncontrollable Fire Points to freedom
Sandpiper’s Freedom
A determined mare makes a plan to keep her foal by her side “Mommy?” “What now, little one?” I shifted my hooves, looking down at my young colt standing beside me. I could hardly believe fifteen sunrises had already passed since he was born. He gazed up at me with large brown eyes, his short tail filled with pine shavings. “When are the humans going to feed us?” he inquired, flicking his small, fuzzy ears. “I’m tired of nursing, but I’m hungry!” “Patience, Jay. They’ll come soon, don’t worry.” I nuzzled his little black flank with my pale pink nose. Jay let out a dramatic whinny-whine and flopped to the floor, his beanpole legs bending in weird angles. I snorted. The barn door rattled. My white ears perked, and I stepped over Jay to peer out beyond the bars on the stall window. Sure enough, a human dressed in grey fabric coverings made her way into the barn and walked toward my stall holding a green bucket. I could already smell the food in the bucket, and I stomped my hoof in eagerness. But part of me was puzzled. I’d never seen this human before. What was she doing with my food, and what was the thin white paper with mysterious black markings doing in her other hand? Humans rarely brought papers to the barn—I’d most frequently seen them when my riders took me out to shows. The human reached my stall and wove her small fingers into the latch, unlocking it and sliding the door open. I sniffed her warily. She slapped my nose and snapped a harsh word, shoving me away from the door. Shocked, I neighed, kicking out with my front legs, but she dodged my flying hooves and stepped to Jay’s side, picking him up roughly around the middle. I neighed again and shoved her away from him with a sharp thrust of my head. She dropped Jay and flew backward into the pile of shavings. Jay’s eyes were wild with fear, and he ran to cower in the corner of the stall. “Who is she?” he whinnied. “What’s she doing here? Why did she try to take me?” “I don’t know, darling. I’ll take care of this.” I stepped forward grimly toward the human, but before I could do anything to her, three more unfamiliar humans in grey clothes swarmed in and grabbed hold of me, forcing a halter around my head. I reared, screeching in outrage, but they dragged me out the stall door and into the crossties in the aisle. I managed to bite two of them on the way, but that only earned me more slaps. Why had they made marks on the paper and attached it to my foal? I tossed my head, my tail high in agitation as I stared helplessly through the bars. The four humans had lifted Jay up and tried to stand him on his feet. He was too terrified to support himself, so they were holding him up by his middle. His eyes pleaded with me to come save him. “I can’t! I’m sorry! I can’t leave these crossties!” I tried to rear up out of the ropes restraining me by the halter, but I only succeeded in jerking my neck painfully. I whinnied again in distress. The other horses in the stalls were neighing and kicking their stall walls in panic, but there was nothing any of us could do. The humans surrounded Jay, blocking my view, but he didn’t cry out. They seemed to be inspecting him, muttering to each other and adding more black scrawls on the paper periodically. After a few minutes, they pulled out a cord with another piece of paper attached to it and scribbled four black characters on it. I watched, scandalized, as they tied the string around my little colt’s pastern. I pawed the hard ground with a hoof, snorting out the unfamiliar scents that had flooded my nose. To my surprise, the humans seemed satisfied, packing up their materials and pouring the food from the bucket into my trough in the corner. They made their way out again, and one came toward me. I pinned my ears, threatening a kick, and he shied away for a moment. But he was back again in an instant, grabbing the halter and unclipping me from the crossties, muttering anxiously. He frequently used the word that the humans called me—Sandpiper. I believe he thought it would calm me, but he was very wrong. My ears tilted backward, and my upper lip lifted in a flehmen from anger. I whipped toward him and bit his shoulder. He cried out in pain and jerked my halter towards the stall, dragging me inside. Jay got up to run to my side, but I gave him a warning look. The human took off my halter and left the stall hurriedly. I walked over to Jay, steadying my fast breathing. He was trembling, trying to bite off the piece of string on his pastern. “Calm, little one. We’re safe now,” I told him, but my neigh was strained and quivery, and I hoped he trusted my words more than I did myself. I nuzzled him, and he stilled. I lay down on the shavings, inspecting the paper on the string. There were four symbols on it: One vertical curvy line, a spiral-like shape, and two vertical straight lines. I had never wished more that I could understand the scribbles that humans made with their strange, black-liquid stick devices. Why had they made marks on the paper and attached it to my foal? A sudden sense of urgency followed that thought. I couldn’t stay somewhere my foal might be in danger. I didn’t know what the scribbles meant, but I’d seen other mares’ foals get tagged similarly, and the next day they were taken away and never seen again. I couldn’t bear to let that happen to Jay. I took a deep breath. “Jay, listen,” I
To the Wild
Oil
Koi Fish
Colored pencil
The Fish’s Song
It was foolish to say it could be done. The boat washing through the shimmering water, the cannons loaded and ready. The world could be a striking place to venture. And as the Earth moved in long ovals, everyone stopped. The fish stopped darting and all their thoughts were focused on the world as the boat sailed and made a street to carry. Then the fish started to twitch and swam forth and everyone stopped peering through their windows. Everything stopped watching. and so the ocean rose and the laws of gravity paused and all the fish flew and took breaths and began to sing. They sang of the life and death of the world. The sailors clutched the sides of the boat. The fish sang of longing and hope. and so the sun stopped and the city was not visible and the Earth continued to turn and the moon continued to orbit a small blue and green planet. And the scorching night darkened. And so the moon took place and sat. But the sea stood up even more. And so the fish sang of encouragement. And so they sang and the sea came to rest. And the sailors in that boat were the only ones who knew the song the fish had sung. As the fire was burning, the forest loomed above the hollow of the world, the drifting snow freezing the lake. As the snow neared the fire it melted, the heat blazing. Then the roots of the trees lifted the ice from the lake. The trunks grew into trees and the snow melted away. The tree branches extended and the lake rose to the air. The leaves grew to larger sizes and the Earth stopped. Everything went dark. Then there was light and from the swirling water came fish. The fish began to sing and their song whistled like the wind in the trees. The water touched the canopy. The fish sang like birds and their song was about life and death. Their song stirred the restless creatures and inspired love and compassion. And under the lake a fire blazed and crackled to the song. The fire was a flare of light and the campers were amazed. The fire showed across the wood-laden forest but did not burn it. And the fish sang louder of life and death and the sound was strong. But then the music ended and the water dropped and put out the fire. In the west, far in the desert mountains, there lay a slender oasis. And so as two lost tourists watched the moon low in the water lay fish. The water glimmered clearing a path across the planet. And everyone on Earth could feel it. As the planet’s pace slowed, there came a stately view. The universe lay infinite above. And so the water rose to the darkness above and the fish sang like jewels. Their song was like silver. They sang of the thread that connects everything and they sang of the stars. They leaped to touch the sky above. And stardust landed and shimmered and the shimmering fish sang of the ever-growing edge. They sang further, of space, that the world would stop turning, and they sang of the outer world, and the vastness of the universe became clear. The stars spun millions of times around the world. And so the fish sang and the water dropped and the fish disappeared. And the Earth continued. As the rain fell, the universe would fold in two. The measureless thing is the universe, the falling rain being a speck of dust. And in the field there was a woman staring into the forest. And from both low and high a sense that a tower arose shining beacons of light across the Earth. And where that tower should have been the waters raged harder until they had formed a lake of water. And it grew wider and began to rise to the sky and the rain became softer and the universe vaster. So the fish sang with a recalling tone. They sang of the return of everything. They sang as if teaching and the song was now troubled. The fish sang of souls since lost, the spirits ceaselessly circling. And so the spirits began their descent to the heavens and the fish addressed their fellow comrades with song. The feeling was now dark and the thunder brewed. The roots pulled up from the ground and held the water and trapped it. And as the water soaked into the woman’s pants, the fish sang of health. And with a sweetened song the rain dispersed and the water washed through the roots.
Moon Tides
Pen
Ivy’s Return
A house cat dreams of becoming a human girl so she can play the piano The melody came on the beams of moonlight. Moonlight poured through a tall window, covering the room in an eerie glow. Ivy lay on the fluffy carpet, fur glowing slightly. Her ears finally stopped twitching at every noise, wishing it was music. More specifically, piano music. She sighed in her sleep, the comforting sound filling her dreams. Ivy dreamt of kitchens full of mice—so many! an endless source of entertainment—and swarms of birds in the air, fresh and warm, to bring inside for her beloved Dahlia. She rolled over in her sleep, and her dreams changed to the piano. If only I was human . . . Ivy purred to herself in her sleep. Then I could play the piano, the wonderful piano Dahlia sits at for hours and hours . . . I could be tall, tall enough to reach the piano, to sit down on the stool with my human legs touching the ground. But now it towers over me, grand and elegant, leaving me feeling small and vulnerable. If only I was human . . . As she wished and wished to be human, the moonlight wrapped itself around her. It grew thicker and thicker, almost solid now. Swirls of it were bright and sounded slightly higher pitched. To most it would sound like nothing, but to the moonlight it was speaking. Should we do it? Should we do it now? She had tried. She had tried to play the piano but was only able to make horrid, wild noise. And when she failed, it made her desire stronger. Does she truly want this? the moonlight sang. Yes! said a shiny swirl. Are you sure? said another. A third said: We will find out soon. * * * It was now the sun which bathed Ivy in its light, and delicious birds’ bouncy music that filled the room. They never knew it might be their last day. Ivy stretched and let out a yawn. Something was different. Her paws no longer felt furry, nor did her face, which was getting itchy from being pressed up against the carpet. In fact, her paws didn’t feel like paws anymore. It was as if they had been pulled too much in all directions, leaving them stretched and achy. Ivy’s legs were too long and smooth, and instead of claws she had stubby nails. Soft cloth covered her, a dress like Dahlia sometimes wore. Like Dahlia! What had happened? She was staring at Ivy as if she was some horrible monster. Why wasn’t she happy? Ivy jerked up. She was much heavier, so she had to use her arms to hold herself up. They were strange, and at the end had large palms with fleshy, furless fingers. It was a hand! Emotions bubbled up in Ivy’s throat, stronger even than when she spotted a mouse, exposed, nibbling on a crumb in the kitchen. She could do anything now! She could play the piano! With Dahlia! They could read together, and have conversations about birds! Footsteps echoed in the hallway, coming closer. “Ivy! Where are you, you silly cat! It’s time for breakfa—aaaaaah!!!” Dahlia stood in the doorway, frozen, her eyes on Ivy. Ivy looked up. Dahlia had always been so kind, giving Ivy extra cat treats, scratching her chin, petting her, and her eyes were always filled with warmth and love when she looked at her. Now all of that was gone, and she was staring at Ivy as if she was some horrible monster. Why wasn’t she happy? Ivy tried standing up, but her legs were too long and she fell down. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead of words like Dahlia’s came a croaking, raspy sound: “Eh-eh-grrr! Mrr—” Dahlia squealed and backed out of the room. “Mom! Dad!” Ivy finally managed to stand up, and stumbled over to the piano. It wasn’t so huge anymore; she was taller than it. Finally. After dreaming for so long, I can play the piano! Maybe Dahlia won’t laugh at me anymore. Ivy lay her large human hands on the keys. Then, a horrible noise! It was wild, worse than a five-year-old trying to play the piano; it sounded like nails scratching on a chalkboard. “There!” Dahlia cried out, running into the room with her parents at her heels. “Oh, my . . .” “What in the world . . .” They both stared at Ivy as if they were trying to find out if she was dangerous or not. Ivy tried to talk again, and this time it came out something like this: “Mrrreeeek!” She moved her mouth into what she thought was a smile. Dahlia and her parents looked horrified. Maybe she had smiled wrong? “Who are you?! Where are your parents?” Dahlia’s mom asked. “Mreeeee!” Ivy stood up, holding on to the piano for balance. She tried taking a few steps, but gave up and got on her hands and feet and tried crawling like a cat. “Aaaaaah!” Dahlia and her parents stepped back. “Get out of my house!” Dahlia’s mom yelled. “I’m calling the police.” Ivy had never heard Dahlia’s mom talk to her like that. “I said, get out!” Ivy half-walked, half-crawled to the back door. She tried to use the cat flap but did not fit. Finally, after a few minutes of hard work, she managed to use the handle and stumbled outside. The air was warm and had a pleasant scent of summer flowers and birds. A breeze rustled Ivy’s long, flowing white hair. It felt strange, yet pleasant, on her furless skin. If this were yesterday, she would have thoroughly enjoyed the nice weather, catching birds and chasing butterflies, but she could barely even walk. Ivy stumbled down the stone path winding its way through the garden. She usually moved smoothly and gracefully, quiet and stealthy. Now her bare
Lazy Cat
This piece contains some additional resources for educators. Click here to read them. Oil pastel Additional Resources Author Interview Summary & Analysis Discussion Questions Author Interview What inspired you to paint this piece? I was inspired to create this piece because I wanted to try out a new medium along with a more colorful way to express myself. I normally use color pencil, so going out of my comfort zone to explore something new was quite fascinating. Can you share more about your creative process? How did you make this? This drawing took me about five or four days to create, mostly because I get distracted very easily. To be honest, I decided to go with the flow, and choose what color pleases me the most at the moment. What’s your favorite single poem, short story, or piece of art? Why? I have multiple favorite art works, but I especially enjoy most impressionistic pieces—for example, pointillism, and a few of Paul Signac’s landscapes. What advice do you have for any young writers or artists hoping to be published in Stone Soup I am not the best at giving advice, but I believe the best part of publishing is being able to showcase what’s truly unique to you and share it with other people. Back to top Summary & Analysis “Lazy Cat” is an oil and pastel painting by Tutu Lin, age 13. This painter uses warm and cool colors in what could be considered an Impressionist style similar to the artist Paul Cezanne. The cat is the focal point of this painting—it is centered in the composition, lounging on what looks to be a blanket. A distinct black line separates the cat from the blanket and this line emphasizes the cat as the center of attention. The cat is stark white in the center of these gemstone shapes. Why does a painter use cool or warm colors? Warm colors (such as red or yellow) can bring warmth, coziness, or happiness to a painting, and cool colors (blue or green) can bring coolness, fear, sadness, or wistfulness to a painting. As a person, you might be drawn to warm or cool colors depending on your own mood. Here, the lazy cat is generally depicted with warm colors, and the blankets contain both warm and cool colors. The use of oil paint creates texture on the painting, almost bringing the image to life. Our fingers could probably feel this sensation if we were allowed to touch it. Viewers are particularly drawn to the oil texture of the black, blue, pink, gray, and purple section directly under the cat. Lin seems to “pop out” this section. Wouldn’t we love to be this lazy cat on her comfy blanket? Back to top Discussion Questions Why might some painters use geometric shapes or wild brush strokes to create an image instead of painting a realistic, almost photo-like image? This painting contains a lot of depth. Viewers can see the environment of the cat very clearly. What are some painting techniques that create depth in Lin’s work? How do light and dark colors work hand in hand in this painting? Back to top
Light on Wooden Wall
Canon EOS Rebel T8i
Editor’s Note
Have you ever wished you could be someone or something else? “Ivy’s Return,” the short story by Clara Gluzdov that opens this issue, perfectly captures this longing through the character of Ivy, the cat who yearns to become a human girl so she can play the piano. When Ivy’s wish is granted, however, she realizes that becoming someone—something—else is not as simple, or wonderful, as she imagined it would be. But in other stories in this issue, happiness comes through more subtle transformation: a street guitarist makes a friend and starts to change his life through music, a girl works up the courage to speak honestly to her friends, and a third grader proudly recounts her changes over the course of the year. I hope you will leave this issue inspired to write about transformations, big and small, real and imagined.
Stone Soup Honor Roll: May/June 2023
Welcome to the Stone Soup Honor Roll! We receive hundreds of submissions every month by kids from around the world. Unfortunately, we can’t publish all the great work we receive. So we created the Stone Soup Honor Roll. We commend all of these talented writers and artists and encourage them to keep creating. – The Editors Scroll down to see all the names (alphabetical by section), including book reviewers and artists. ART Oliver Berger, 8 Isabella Bhagwandin, 12 Claire Cui, 11 Delilah Prager, 12 Isabella Song, 11 Elodie Weinzierl, 13 MEMOIR Graham Hettlinger, 11 Brayden Mogilinski, 10 Aden Olian, 11 Caitlin See, 11 Shreya Sharath, 13 Chanho Yang, 11 POETRY Noa, 5 Sonia Kamnitzer, 11 Marielle Miller, 11 Summer Torres, 12 STORIES Grace Chen, 12 Arianna Kanji, 13 Sara Kalhous, 10 Andrew Ang Wei Ken, 9 Amara G. Maddux, 8 Zoe Pazner, 11 Selvi Radia, 11 Olivia Rhee, 12 Benjamin Sanchez, 7 Gemma Schwartz, 9
