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January 2019

Night

    The stars stood gleaming Like sequins On a black cloth The moon came to rest On the surface Of a pond The grass swayed From side to side Like a rocking horse The night was as quiet As an empty page. Mae Gesser, 9Brooklyn, NY

The Hummingbird

    As I walked along the trail, the wind rustled the deep-green leaves in the tall trees. I could sense everything in the forest that day; the soft whispers of the tall grass, the chipmunks that silently skittered across the trail, the lullaby of the creek as clear water trickled over smooth stones. But there was something else. A light, joyful presence, a presence that made the whole forest stop to look. It made me stop and look too. I stood in place, still as a statue, looking for whatever creature created this magical atmosphere. And then I saw it. Quick as a flash, a burst of color in the green leaves above. It zipped past me, and towards the small patch of flowers on the edge of the trail. Only then was I able to get a good look at it. A hummingbird, each feather meticulously crafted by Mother Nature herself, shimmered in the dappled green-gold light of the forest. Miniscule bright eyes glinted mischievously as iridescent wings moved back and forth so fast that they were merely a blur. Its tiny body shimmered in the sunlight, capturing all the colors of the rainbow. It perched gracefully on in a nearby bush, and that bush seemed to quiver with delight at this pint-sized miracle. The hummingbird chirped sweetly and fluffed itself out. And just like that, the hummingbird spread its miniature wings and was gone as quickly as it had come. Clare McDermott, 12Madison, WI Daania Sharifi, 13Gainesville, VA

Hide-And-Seek

  For my Opa “Faster, faster, faster!” Carlotta squealed, her eyes shining with excitement. Freja Larsen and Madeline Aaron, best friends since birth, laughed at the silliness of Freja’s younger sister. Giggling and talking, they rode home on Farmer John’s hay cart every day after school. “Three, two, one and . . . jump!” All three of them, Freja holding her little sister’s hand, jumped off the hay cart as they reached their home. Running with the hay cart to give Lily the cow a little pat, they finally waved goodbye to the cart that moved into the distance, dust trailing behind it. As they walked to the door, Carlotta blabbed on about what they were going to play once they got home. “We can play dolls!” she exclaimed. “Lotta, no, nobody wants to play dolls.” “I do.” Carlotta stuck out her tongue, held her nose in the air, and walked toward the house, her arms crossed stubbornly across her chest. “Lotta, c’mon, can’t we play anything else?” Slowly, Carlotta turned on her heel and eyed Freja suspiciously. “Like what?” she asked, squinting at her older sister. “What about hide-and-seek?” Freja suggested. Carlotta’s face fell then lit up. “I know where I’m going to hide! In our closet upstairs! The latch right at the back of the closet opens up and a hundred people can fit in!” “Lotta, you’re not supposed to tell the seeker where you’re going to hide. And anyway, it’s barely big enough for two!” “I bet you still can’t find me. It’s so . . . hidden!” Freja’s mother, Marie, was waiting for the girls at home and greeted them warmly as they came in. They walked straight into the kitchen, their mouths watering as the smell of freshly baked wienerbrød filled their noses. “Oh girls, what have you done?” Marie said, trying to suppress a smile. “Not one day goes by without you getting yourselves dirty. Now, who’s going to help me cook tonight?” *          *          * “And . . . done!” Freja had been helping Madeline get ready for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year. This year, 1943, it was on the 29th of September. Freja had helped prepare the apples, pouring honey into a pretty jar big enough to dip the apples in. Madeline’s mother, Grace, had baked honey cake, which Carlotta was trying to nibble. Grace had also baked fresh, round challahs, and the girls couldn’t wait to eat the sweet cinnamon treats. The girls also laid out the head of a fish and some pomegranate and many other goodies. Madeline looked stunning in a beautiful but modest dress, and so did Grace. Now everything was finally set. Grace had invited the Larsens to share the first, special evening of Rosh Hashanah with them, and the best friends were excited for the first time celebrating together. Ring, Ring, Ring. The doorbell rang and everyone froze. Slowly, her heels clacking, Marie walked to the door and peeked through the keyhole, holding Carlotta by the hand. It was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Marie let out a sigh of relief and mouthed “Kasper.” Freja’s mother was in the modstandsbevægelsen, the Danish resistance, a group of people who fought secretly to protect the lives of Danish Jews. She opened the door a crack and then swiftly let the young man in. “God aften, Kasper,” she bade him good evening in Danish. Even though he was not who she had feared, Marie didn’t look very pleased. Her face showed no concern, but her eyes were filled with worry. Kasper talked quickly and secretly to Marie, not taking off his coat or hat or coming any farther than the hallway. He whispered something, and Marie’s face turned pale and her lips dry. She bade him goodbye and moved quickly back into the living room. “We cannot stay here. You must come with us to our home.” *          *          * Marie drove everyone back to the Larsens’ home—the car was the family’s only piece of luxury—as it was faster than walking. She told Carlotta to stop fussing about wanting to hide in the closet and ordered the girls to go to bed straight away. Madeline and her mother squeezed into the secret back closet that was Lotta’s favorite hiding spot. Freja and Carlotta went straight to bed, as it was late anyway. In their room, Lotta cuddled up to her sister and fell asleep soon, but despite the fact that Freja’s eyes felt like lead, she could not bring herself to sleep. There was a firm knock on the door about an hour later, and Freja still lay awake. She could hear her mother’s footsteps move across the tiled kitchen floor, out into the furnished living room, down the hallway, and to the door. Muffled sounds of voices and then boots scraping against the burnished wood floorboards. Freja imagined what Carlotta would have thought about this. In her mind, she could hear Carlotta’s young voice stubbornly refusing to let them in without taking off their shoes and throwing a tantrum when she saw how they were treating the beautiful house. The footsteps came closer, and Carlotta started to fuss. Knowing it would be dangerous if Lotta were to wake, Freja held her close, and Lotta’s breath slowed once more. Freja shut her eyes tight and turned the opposite way of the door. The door opened loudly and light flooded into the room. Two uniformed officers, one stout, one lanky, closed the door and shone their torches on the bed. “Please, my children are sleeping, don’t wake them.” Marie gripped the lanky soldier’s wrist and moved the torch’s glare away from the bed. Only now did Freja dare to open her eyes. “We have nothing to hide. Now please—leave my children to sleep.” The soldiers started to back out but then suddenly walked towards the closet. The uniformed officers