I walk through the silent pasture to the tree swing. I sit down and start to swing. I close my eyes and fall into a silent sleep. When I open my eyes I see the ground is littered with leaves, acorns and plants of all kinds. I sit listening to the wind roar. I am not troubled. I just sit there watching waiting. Riley Grace Carlson, 9Franklin, Tennessee
November/December 2007
School Daze
Samantha-Ellen Robinson awoke to her alarm clock’s shrill ring, followed by a loud thunk accompanied by a sharp pain, as she bonked the top of her head against the bottom of the headboard. Groggy, Samantha slid her feet out from under the cozy fleece quilt and onto the embroidered rug. As she slipped her ten toes, sporting baby-blue nail polish, deep into the puffy warmth of her bunny slippers, Samantha accidentally caught a glimpse of her alarm clock. She leaped up into the brisk November morning, hardly noticing the chattering of her teeth, leaving the cocoon of her blanket behind. “Nine o’clock!” Samantha gasped. “Nine o’clock! I’m late for school! Oh, no no no no NO!” In one spectacular leap—usually reserved for acrobats, not pre-teen girls—Samantha managed to fly across the room, seize a pair of leggings and a T-shirt, and have one sneaker halfway on by the time she catapulted herself through the door. Samantha jammed her left foot into the other Adidas and ran. She sped across the landing, upsetting her two-year-old brother, Johnny, who had been standing there sucking his thumb and rubbing his eyes, so that he tumbled over onto his diapered bottom. “Thamantha,” he whined, attempting to stand back up, “Thamantha… wait.” “My, my,” Mom chided, ‘aren’t we in a hurry this morning?” “No time,” she panted, hopping onto the banister. As she slid down towards the center foyer, the wind rushed past her ears and her stomach cringed. The image of Dad percolating coffee and Mom scrambling eggs grew larger and larger until, with a last sickening thump, she landed on the floor beside the kitchen archway. “My, my,” Mom chided, “aren’t we in a hurry this morning?” “Uh, huh,” Samantha wheezed, half out the door. Sprinting across the driveway, she could still hear her father shouting, “Samanthaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…” Samantha paid him no mind, and soon she was pounding along the sidewalk, panting and gasping and racing like she never had before. “I’m never late!” she cried inwardly, “I’m never late! I’ll get detention! I’ll get suspended! I’ll get expelled! Ohh, how did I manage to press the snooze button so many times?” With every fall of her feet, her stomach did a backflip and her gut churned. “Oh, only let this be a dream,” she begged, “and I’ll never be late again.” And then, the red brick building, looming in the distance, was coming closer. And then she was up on its steps. And then she was pounding on the doors and hollering, “Let me in! I’m late, I’m late!” She looked up at the windows in despair. “They even locked the doors on me!” And then Ruby Samson, passing by, stopped to stare at Samantha, puzzled and confused. And then Ruby was taking Samantha back from the steps, and saying, like one might say to a troubled toddler, “You’re not late, Samantha. It’s Saturday!” Anna Elizabeth Blech, 11New York, New York Patricia Lin, 10Los Altos Hills, California
The Opposite Direction
The icy November breeze Chilled my neck, as muggy Gray clouds hid the brilliant sun. Laying my rake down, giving it a rest From clawing the leaves into a pile, When the desperate cries of wood thrushes came to my ears. The enormous amount of birds made me suck in the crisp air. I exclaimed, “Wow. You don’t see that every day!” The birds made dips and circular movements, that were fluent and organized. As the huge swarm flew towards their destination, one small speck of a bird left the pack and flew in the opposite direction. The caws and cries of the huge group echoed off into the early morning sky. The shrieks and hisses of the hawks greeted them as they flew into Costa Rica and pierced through every heart of the wood thrushes. A living nightmare for the inky black-eared wood thrushes, A temporary amusement for the hungry hawks. Hawks dived down on their prey like hail on ants. Wood thrushes scattered frantically beating their wings up and down searching for any means of escape. Razor-sharp talons and hooked beaks glinted in dawn’s early light. The wood thrushes scrambled to and fro—”Where to go!” One small speck of a bird led the others out of the jungle, making swerves and dips as the hawks stopped their vicious assault. They had a joyful reunion with the one daring bird that made a solo flight—and eventually led the others out of the hawk’s sharp grasp. Benjamin Firsick, 11South Windsor, Connecticut
