Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was an ordinary bird, Pecky. Pecky was a plain looking, shy, and reserved hummingbird. She was not particularly strong, nor considered herself brave. She was always leaning on her parents. Her family lived in The Silent Woods, named by the mayor, Mr. Fluffy Tail. Despite the name, the forest was anything but quiet. The chitter-chatter of all the creatures, from rodents to leopards, echoed through the babbling streams to the forest sky. On one memorable day, the birds went wild screeching for help while the foxes, bears, and raccoons chatted up a storm about what would become of them. The energy in the forest felt like a birthday party with thousands of animals all talking at once. The billowing smoke started to seep through the tree branches. Red sparks lit up the dry bushes and leaves then quickly burned along the tree bark. The inferno had begun to creep close to their adobe. In a wave of panic, Pecky started to see how this huge wall of fire would demolish her habitat, the food source, and endanger her family and friends’ lives. Hopelessness swept over her like a snowy avalanche. She felt as terrified as a mouse stuck in a glue trap. Initially, Pecky just froze and did nothing to help change her situation. She figured that the stronger bears could just break through the trees to put out the fires, and the foxes could just dash back and forth to bring buckets of water. She thought to herself, “Couldn’t the other animals take care of this problem?” At the same time, she doubted her feeble wings, her dainty toes, or her tiny brain can compare to the other mighty creatures. So she didn’t do anything and just stood idle. Yet as time passed by, she heard her friends’ desperate cries for help, holding onto each other with tears streaming down their faces. Many others scurried around looking for cover and safety from the fire that seared through the trees. As she watched the treetops crumble into ashes, the twigs in their family nest fall apart, and dying worms drop down to the ground, she realized that she had to contribute with whatever skills and talents she possessed or risk losing the home and family she loved. Regardless of her size and strength, she was now determined to figure out a solution just by being herself. Pecky found a high branch. Using her loudest outdoor voice, she shouted: “Pack your bags! Put on your fire-proof clothing! Run towards the lake!” She felt so small and insignificant believing she couldn’t change the fate of what would become of her family and friends. Pecky used her agile moves to flap her nimble wings to create gusts of wind to try to put out some small flames. For a while it seemed like the fire was retracting, but then another burst of flames exploded towards the forest like fresh lava spewing out of a volcano. She felt dejected but didn’t let it paralyze her. She immediately started gathering the bigger birds to line up above the nearby lake and asked them to flap their wings in unison. She joined the effort despite having the smallest wings. This movement blew the water out of the lake towards the flame, extinguishing the fire until it was no more. In this story, Pecky was just an ordinary bird that did extraordinary things. She saved the forest from being burned down which gave her family and furry friends a home to return to. In real life, there are scary wildfires that harm people, ruin entire communities, and also endanger animals and their habitat. Sometimes, when life gets hard, I tell myself I am not the strongest, fastest, or smartest to overcome it to make any real difference. It’s easy to just walk away and shrug the problem off my shoulders and let others solve it. Pecky is me. I know I have the gift of a strong voice and I want to be the change that I want to see. Although I can’t put out a forest fire, or completely get rid of pollution, or stop ice caps from melting, I can do little things with lots of love. When I see a piece of trash on the playground, I can pick it up rather than leave it there and wait for someone else to throw it away. Instead of running the car to go to near-by places, I can ride my bike so there is less exhaust and smog in the air. I can show care by talking and keeping my friend company when they feel down. I believe every life is precious and deserves to be treated well. Not only that, I matter because I am special and unique in my own way. The world is a stage where everyone plays a part. I play a small yet important part of this enormous “stage” that is our planet, for I have spirit, life, and a voice. There are basic human traits that everyone should have like honesty, kindness, loyalty, and generosity. Just like Pecky, when we get knocked down and drained of hope, we can get back up and fight with strength and words, with friends by our side. I can make a difference in this world, for I matter.
nature
Writing Workshop #25: Nature Writing
An update from our twenty-fifth Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday October 17, plus some of the output published below This week’s class focused on writing about nature, thinking about landscape, plants, animals, weather, and all the elements of lyrical writing that go into bringing the natural world alive on the page and in the minds of our readers. The Writing Challenge: Write a piece of nature writing, delving deep into an animal, a landscape or other piece of nature. The Participants: Anya, Peri, Maddie, Ava, Nami, Nova, Tegan, Ma’ayan, Lena, Georgia, Gia, Rithesh, Lena, Emma, Lucy, Madeline, Lucy, James, Olivia, Hera, Liam, Charlotte, Lina, Margaret, Janani, Enni, Samantha, Tilly, Simran, Angela, Madeline, Jonathan, Charlotte, Sophia, Elbert. Lena Aloise, 11Harvard, MA The Plum Tree Lena Aloise, 11 He was happiest early in the daytime, when the sky was painted over crimson and violet, when the crisp breeze flushed his cheeks a rosy red, when the birds sang their soft melody, whimsically conversing. Nowadays, there was nothing that brought him more pleasure than such a beautiful silence and he was content to be alone, for the most part. Human company depressed him. There was a plum tree up on the hill, surveying her lower domain with a watchful, protective eye. She sat on her throne of grasses, boughs reaching towards an infinite expanse of sky, bearing leaves of olive green and sagging under the weight of her indigo fruits. She bore the look of not a queen, but a mother, like the ones he had only read about in story books. He could not help feeling a twinge of jealousy, looking upon the spherical children that she loved so dearly. Why could not someone hold him with such tenderness? It brought him such anger that one day, he walked up to the tree with his hatchet, planning to end it’s happiness. The tree sat there, calmly, waiting for the worst. He threw his blade to the ground and sunk to the ground, leaning up against her trunk, tears spilling from his eyes. Her branches touched his hair and the wind murmured words of consolation. From that day forth, the tree acted like the mother he had lost. He told it everything and she listened, in a way that only a mother could. She did not speak words, but was alive and growing. She cared about him and was a constant presence throughout the rest of his childhood. And when her fruits were picked at the turn of the season and when the boy was a young man, she lovingly bid them farewell. Because that was what mothers did. Ava Angeles, 12Chicago, IL The Brook Ava Angeles, 12 Flourishing bushes enveloped a small brook that babbled to itself as it ran along. It weaved between the protruding clumps of leaves, which sometimes broke free and ran along with it, tumbling over small pebbles and stones that had been lying there for decades. The bushes gave an occasional rustle now and then, and this was a sign that a small animal or insect was making its way through the thick branches entwined beneath the cover of leaves. It looked peaceful from the outside, but underneath the leaves of the bushes was another hurried, bustling world: earthworms burrowed through the earth, poking their light pink bodies up here and there; a small colony of ants were crawling up and down their anthill, scurrying, vanishing into the small hole at the top; and a beetle, sporting a glossy black shell, scampered along on its six legs in a quest to find food. Full Moon Lena D., 12 The wind blew wildly A full moon arose Across the path I run across the breeze Rain pours down Giant oceans of puddles. Crossing over the river. I growl. The sound of my friend calls me. I howl. She doesn’t stop. I ran towards her. The breeze blows wildly. A sudden tornado goes into the distance. Tree leaves drop. Thunder rumbles. I head to my friend. “I was so worried about you,” she says. “I’m sorry,” I told her. She nodded. “It’s fine, but don’t go running off again.” I crawl under the corner of the cave. I close my eyes. “Wake up,” says my friend. I open my eyes. “What’s wrong?” I ask her. “Nothing. The storm went away,” she says. I look up. It was true. It was gone. I ran outside. “We must find a home,” I told her. She nodded. “Yes.” Soon we would find a home. Someday we would find peace. Someday. Anya Geist, 14Worcester, MA Underneath the Tree Anya Geist, 14 The child glided through long waving grasses, grasses that flickered and danced like fire in the setting sun. A small breeze was pushing its way through the air, just a puff of breath that caused the small girl’s cheeks to grow the slightest bit rosy, and her soft blond curls to sway gently about her little face. On she walked, her sandaled feet making hardly any noise, her eyes casting their gaze out all around her at the large field which spread for miles, until it was abutted by a small house -her house- to the east, and the great, looming mountains to the west. There was no buzzing of bees, no chirping of birds, as she passed, for they had all fled this silent field, afraid of the power that the quiet bestowed upon the land. After a few minutes, the girl’s footsteps slowed, and then stopped. Stopped in the middle of the plain. She breathed in and out and looked at her surroundings. She had some upon a small oasis in the field -although perhaps oasis is not the right word, for the field was already a beautiful paradise. Here the grasses were clipped short; they were small and green and neat, like a carpet beneath the girl’s feet. In the middle of the oasis was a tree. It wasn’t terribly tall; and its branches
A Plea from the Red Zone
California, oh man — land of opportunity, of sunshine, of warm sandy beaches, of snow-capped peaks. California. Land of vast cities, quiet suburbs, quaint rural farming communities. California, California, oh man, California. Land of smoke, land of fire. Land of citizens scattered about the state, homes burned to the ground, ashes gently swooping down like charred bird feathers from the monotonous grey sky. My name is Liam Hancock, and I once lived in that postcard California. That kind of place where crystal clear lakes could thrive with colorful little fish, or where ocean waves could roar into salty air. But that was a while ago, I suppose. Back then, I was only nine, ten years old with nothing to worry about but grade school crushes and particularly bothersome video game trends. 2017. Three years ago, California was thrown into a caliber of disaster that it hadn’t faced in nearly one hundred years since the San Francisco Earthquake. Nearly 3 million citizens—real, living people—plunged into chaos. We waved goodbye to any sense of normalcy we’d ever had before, along with any manageable AQI. Beautiful wine country and many other significant locations were set ablaze. I watched as cities I’d once loved burned to nothing but ash in the matted dirt. And the smoke – there was ample smoke, and not the good kind either. Not the midnight-on-a-fantastic-camping-trip-campfire kind of smoke. The kind of smoke that hovered midair and tainted everything grey and dried out my throat and filtered it’s stench of char and gasoline anywhere it could manage to. 2017 left thousands of lives and homes destroyed beyond repair, and even though it has been voided from news networks, the effects are still real here in California. It takes years and years of intense effort for both the environment and the people to mend their scars, if only that. Unfortunately, nature waits for nothing and 2020 has thrown us yet another curveball. Just last week, my sister and I were awoken to a recently off-limits sight here in the suburbs of San Francisco—lightning. It was an indescribable feeling to watch sheer electricity arcing across a morning sky. We ate up almost all of our morning in an attempt to catch video or photo evidence so our parents couldn’t disprove us. Not soon after, though, we heard the wail of sirens racing down the main avenue adjacent to our townhome. “Maybe it’s just a police call,” I said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. My sister chewed her lip, eyes glued to the sky. “Yeah,” she replied after an even longer period of even more uncomfortable silence. “Yeah, maybe that’s what it is.” A good couple minutes later, our parents arose and herded the two of us back inside. The entire day, I sat riveted near our french window as the smoke reliably fell from the sky along with thick grey ashes. I repeatedly checked the fire location feeds on my tablet throughout the day to discover that we were soon to be completely surrounded by wildfires. Complexes, they call them, aroused by the recent lightning strikes throughout California. And my family is in the red. And so are the millions of other families around us. People. Living, breathing people. Once again, our lives are all at risk. Our lives are in the red. So this is a plea from California. And if you’re reading this, then you can help. You already have. States from across the nation have sent in their own brave teams of firefighters to aid ours in the complex nearest to me, the SCU Complex, which has now scorched nearly 35,000 acres of my own county and counties nearby. My name is Liam Hancock, full name Liam Patrick Hancock. Call me Liam for short, it’s a bit less of a mouthful. I love to write, perform, and sing. I have a special fascination with roller coasters, all shapes and sizes (although I’m way too scared to ride most of them). I’m twelve years old, almost thirteen, but of course it doesn’t quite feel like it yet. I’ve got two pets, a dog and a cat, and I both love them till the ends of the earth. That’s my own story, but don’t be fooled. There are countless other stories that need to be read, that need to be appreciated. Preserved. So I beg of you to remember that there are people in the red. California isn’t just a land mass, it isn’t just a state on fire. There are people on fire here as well. Maybe not physically, but we’re watching the places we know and love be destroyed. We’re on fire. We’re putting up our strongest fight possible, and we know you are putting up yours. So, in support of our firefighters, of our stories, of the families in The Red Zones – please spread this message to the folks you know. Because, after all, every single person can make a difference. All you have to do is post: #RedZoneStrong on your own social media accounts to keep our days bright regardless of the AQI. There it is: #RedZoneStrong is all it takes to keep us going. Go right now, share it with the world. This is a plea. A plea from California.
