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100% written and illustrated by kids ages 6-13


By

Spring

Hmmm . . . Is it? Is the time ripe? Or is it not . . . Hmmm . . . Better go check in case it is, Better not delay the bliss, Maybe it is, There is a smell of grass, Maybe it is, The chickadees are exploring, Maybe it is coming . . . I better check . . . And there it is— Here at last! The harsh winter has now passed, The evidence is clear, The frost is melted to a smear, The soil is alive, Things are awakening, Stretching, Leaving only a slight tingling, Confirming this miraculous arrival.


By

Salt

The narrator recalls a memorable trip to Australia’s Sunshine Coast People call the Gold Coast Australia’s Miami. They sing the praises of how it attracts swarms of tourists to a world where skyscrapers pierce a sky speckled with stars and nightclubs pulse with frenetic music, of bikini-clad meter maids and gleaming pools, of glitter and shimmering allure. Slip onto a golden beach crowded with laughter that floats on the warm breeze, that curls around you like a cat’s tail. Lay a picnic blanket beneath an endless dome of sky. Looking onto the panorama of turquoise sea, tell yourself: this is paradise. It was not the Gold Coast my friend Ivy and I were traveling to. It was the Sunshine Coast, its twin up north, and I was skeptical. Others visiting the one-hundred sun-kissed kilometers that comprised its wonders had called it enchantingly beautiful. On the first afternoon, I looked out onto the sand—a sun-kissed shore that could’ve been plucked from anywhere on Earth—and skepticism wormed into my thoughts. Yet the next morning, we made a trek with our families out to the Point Cartwright Lighthouse: something of a local icon. Built and automated in 1978, the building was showing signs of disrepair, and it had been painstakingly rebuilt, now with a fresh coat of paint. This meant we couldn’t explore the rabbit warren of rooms carved into its stone. After exploring the lighthouse’s exterior, I found myself in a little glade surrounded by trees. On plaques fixed to pieces of wood, I read obituaries, blessings, grievances. Born Asleep, read one. Our little baby boy. Gone Fishing, read another. This chance discovery was a monument to grief, and I felt both humbled and somber when I read so many of those names— even an infant who had been born and died on the same day, its plaque next to a heartbreaking picture of a baby with angel wings. We wended our way through rocky tips that rose from the ground like giants’ fingers to the shore. The sea crashed gray and forbidding against the sand, which trickled into my sandal no matter how hard I shook it. It whipped the rocks, sending up colossal sprays of foam, like a prisoner lashing against the bars of its cage. I breathed in the briny air and let my little worries be washed away by the sea’s clash and fury. I have always loved the wild spaces of nature, where you can be drowned, you can be paralyzed, you can lose yourself in its elemental force. You can be buried, scattered with the sweeping tide. Confronted with the ocean’s mighty thunder, one can forget everything if they try. Embrace After an afternoon spent shopping and watching movies, my family walked to the beach. We were one of few—clouds brewed violently in the sky. I stopped protesting aboutsafety afterthe clouds slid apartand a shaftofsunlightstreamed through the storm, glowing luminous gold against the gray. It was extraordinary and a little frightening too. The clouds drew on, and the pocket of peace stayed, and it seemed like we were the only people on Earth. We walked on towards the west and the sun, bathed in purple-gold against the darkness. It was as if we were on a journey to the ends of the Earth. Some things never change; your faculty for wonder is one. I turned that moment over and over, knowing it would become a precious memory. On the third day’s evening, when Mum invited me to go to the beach with my brother Justin and Ivy’s sister Bella, I jumped at the chance. The night wrapped velvety around us, rich with the scent of salt and jasmine. The wind whistled through the curve of the dunes. Justin and Bella scampered towards the east, their hair tangling around their cheeks. Though I tried to stop myself, I found myself chasing Bella and Justin, laughing. This freedom, all by ourselves on a Maroochydore night, released some buried sadness in me. All my worries, I imagine, were lost along with the tide. My family left Maroochydore on the fourth day, but impressions of that holiday will last. It’s a place of refreshment and peace, where you can taste salt on your tongue and the wind wraps around your ankles as if beckoning you on an adventure. Parrots found on our balcony who seemed to recognize our curious selves as one of their own. That molten gold sun that traced a trail through the churning sea. The sea’s long, sorrowful moan threading into my sleep. The salt that crept into sandals, into sofas, into floorboards, into everything. Though we left Maroochydore, those memories will stay with me forever.


By

A Wizard, Her Wand, and Grandfather Oak

Leeka the wizard and her trusty oak wand pledge to save the depleted forest Leeka, the wizard, was frantically looking around for her lost wand. A silk- smooth wand of oak. Stone-sturdy. Embedded with multicolored flashing opals. Perfect for a wand! It was the gold in her heart. Tired, she gave up. Yet, still hopeful, she decided to search the forest for ivy to decorate, if not her old wand, the future one that would choose her. Stopping her search was something big and twisted into chunks of wood—her wand! Leeka slumped and sighed. “Oh, dear. All morning wasted. Wasted!” Leeka looked up at the sky and started to recall another faraway time in the quietest forest of all, where the trees reached and stretched to the blue sky, where ivy wrapped the high trees like friends and the mosses hung around the branches like damp pieces of cloth, where the sunbathing foxes snoozed on smooth rocks, and the air smelled fresh from the morning shower—in this quietest forest of all, she had happily trotted back home with White Raspberry, her then-intact opal oak wand. She sighed back to reality. Oh, how the forest had changed—bereft now of many trees and moss, clean pools, and animal dwellers, except for some new owls. But no ivy, no love, no sweet blackberries, no fresh rain. There Leeka sat and began to stare at her old wand, wondering if her magic could repair the badly wounded but delightfully old forest. Still, she needed a wand. Finally, she stood up and took a deep breath. I will not forget about the old wand. I will salvage it as part of the old forest that needs to be protected. Then she sprinted towards the lively center of the forest, where her ancient Great Oak Grandfather lived, alive as alive can be, and her very best friend. He had made her wand from one of his branches and now spoke to her with his kind language, which she had learned to understand. “Leeka, my dear! So delighted to see you again, my youngest granddaughter!” “Greetings,” Leeka replied. “Happy to see you again, my oldest great-grandfather.” Stars covered her like an endless comforting blanket with shining eyes; the moon sang a sweet dreamy song just for her; owls elegantly perched and flew off trees as she fell asleep. Yet the great old oak noticed Leeka looking down at the ground. How unusual, he thought. What’s causing her to be like this? The puzzled ancient oak bent down and brushed her with one of his branches, feeling a thick barrier of sadness surrounding her. He whispered (so the other, fellow oaks could not hear), “What’s wrong? You seem so sad.” Leeka looked up and sniffed. “My wand is broken. Would you kindly mend it?” Then she began her chant sharing why mending the wand would be vital: My stone-silk-smooth wand is hurt! He is the gold piece in my heart and yours. Our bond is now in need of saving, as is the diminished forest around us. By healing this wand, our shared magic will again be in tune— the rushing river will return to fill the dry bed, animals will snooze happily in the clean mist. Protected by our magic, this greenest of dwelling places will always be a safe refuge, never a polluted desert! And every creature’s joy will infuse the magic aura to protect us all! Grandfather Oak replied, “My heart is broken with yours. Our shared piece of gold, your cherished wand, shall be mended. Your good and compassionate heart, aiming to protect and heal this forest, brings new magical insights to me. By saving this forest, we save many other lives besides our own. Your wand shall be with you tomorrow. Just remember it might be a little bit different!” “Ah, thank you! You are also a piece of gold in my heart! Will you and I be a little different too?” teased Leeka while handing her wand to the wise old oak. *          *          * Night had descended, so Leeka camped out, lying under the starry night. Stars covered her like an endless comforting blanket with shining eyes; the moon sang a sweet dreamy song just for her; owls elegantly perched and flew off trees as she fell asleep. Leeka awoke to her white oak wand embedded again with opals. White Raspberry was back! She sat up and ran to hug White Raspberry, but he dodged away. He also started hopping around her like a rabbit while he unexpectedly grew a foot taller. She stared at Raspberry in confusion, but reached out and managed to grab him. When she tried to put the wand in her basket, she held it with so much enthusiasm that it leapt and flew. All of sudden, she was up in the air like a helium balloon, clutching a wand with a mind of its own. Up in the air, she finally remembered her grandfather had asked her to bear with possible changes. However, she now lacked power over White Raspberry. How could that be a helpful change? Ah! Or perhaps now she and Raspberry would have equal power? White Raspberry spoke up: “I just wanted you to see the devastation caused by deforestation. Look down to your left.” To the left, some trees were withered and gray; others were gone, leaving empty spots. Up so high, she could see other forests crying for help. Leeka became keen to learn how forests could be regenerated and how deforestation could be reversed. White Raspberry could read her mind, so when Leeka wondered if her new wand would want to learn this new magic, he answered before she had even asked: “Yes, of course, Leeka! I’m made from those trees, and I will thank them for saving my life by protecting them.” Outstretched Leeka smiled with thanks and joy. “We just don’t know how to perform the right magic, but


By

Red

Red is the sunset an apple a cherry my Chinese outfit a lucky color mermaid’s hair blood a feather a fox a heart and all the other lovely things.


By

Fox

Where have you seen the fox? In the bushes, hiding. I saw a fox As red as blood Carrying a Limp rabbit. Its teeth were sharp And bared, Its ears were alert, And its whiskers twitched. Its fur felt like scarlet snow And its tail swung intently. When I was walking by, The fox stared at me With its beady midnight eyes, And scurried away, Leaving me Gazing in its wake.