Sky's Last Stand

The way the deepest colors
of the flowers seem to bleed
as the sun shifts in the sky
shadow talons stretch through windows

The sky's last stand
saturates the fields of golden grass
daylight's fight to cling to life
gives vibrancy to the night



-Sam Hayden

Climbing Silver

By Stu

Marissa stands there, slouching against the metal framed door. Nonchalantly, she raises her hand to her face, and inhales the silver waft of smoke, letting it slither into her lungs, before exhaling it once again. Silver smoke ebbing and flowing between the gaps in her teeth. I sit there, on the cold hard cement steps of the apartment complex, leaning my back against the cool black railing. Its metal figure pressing against my warm shoulders and the frosty metal bites through my shirt, surely leaving bright red indentations all across my figure. We sit there in silence as I gaze off into the golden landscape of leaves and tar that makes up the cramped parking lot; she continues to slouch, sucking in the hissing curls of decay. She inhales once again, and the cigarette flares up, a beacon in the coming twilight, and the silver waves come pouring out once again; a never ending process similar to that of the oceans tides. The light fades once again.
A delicate crackling jumps into my ears as I turn to see a Dunkin Donuts bag dancing and twirling across the pitch black pavement. Its movements so elegant and unique. It does not have a care in the world, solely to dance to its hearts content and express itself. So beautifully it rises in the chilling breeze and finds its way into the clutches of a lush green hedge. Cradled in the dark clutches of the hedge, it finds its peace, like a child nestled in the arms of its mother. The breeze dies down and stillness returns to the lot, and I lean back against the cool dark railing once again.
Her fingers separate, like aged glue finally succumbing to the never ending will of time, and the fragment of tobacco begins its final decent towards to cement steps. A muffled thump echoes in the silence, and a rasping hiss emerges as the cigarette takes its final gasp of breath before her sandal-clad foot meets it head to head and all life is extinguished; just like the countless lives the cigarette has taken years and years before. A momentary victory has been won between the cancer stick and the woman standing triumphant above its smitten body. The victory is short lived however, as her manicured figures slide their way into the frayed pocket of her pink hoodie. Out of the shadows, a new one emerges; ready to take the place of its fallen brethren. Turning once again in the direction of the black lot another breeze rises up, and fills my ears with its gentle whistling. I hear Marissa clicking her lighter, trying to win the fight against the wind. She eventually emerges from the conflict with a new glowing cigarette, her face momentarily obscured by the hazy waft of smoke, before it finds itself dancing in the wind and rises into the sky.
With great effort, I take my eyes away from the scenery sprawled out before me, and with a heave, find myself standing in the billowing gust. Simultaneously Marissa pushes herself away from the door and makes her way down the steps. Her feet meet the tar with a soft tap, and soon make their way next to mine before halting. Together they begin to move, with each step, drawing closer to their final goal. They reach the rear of a dark purple Honda Accord, and take their separate paths. The pink flip-flop clad feet glide towards the passenger side, and the ratty sneakers scuffle along in the direction of the driver’s seat. Both of our figures disappear from view and find their seats in the car. With the sound of the revving engine, we soon find ourselves leaving the landscape in front of the apartment building behind. Before me lays the one way street and with a tap on the gas pedal, off we go to a new destination.

The View

by Travis

I am lying on my back in a field. The sun is beeting down hard on my surroundings, however it seems to bypass me with it’s rays of sunshine filled with energy heat and life. I have a forrest on my left. Hearing each and every sound which surrounds me . In the woods I hear the sound of a woodpecker slaving away, trying to make hole in the mighty white oak. I hear the birds chirping, the birds are soaring down into the field more than likely to obtain their last meal of the day. On my right the small brook is babeling as if it were trying to tell a story, it is trying to tell a story, the story of fall. All around me things are slowly dying, life is eroding away. As my edges start to freeze, my inhabitants start to migrate and my waters start to chill. I feel the crushing grips of winter grabbing me and pulling me into its prison. All around me is the sound of crickets, which is consuming me. The crickets are the last thing I hear that day, they are the last sign of life. The other inhabitants of the forrest are fleeing from the oncoming fear of winter. The land slowly starts to adapt as well. In the sun the grass is dry as if it were a normal summer day. In the shade the grass is cold, covered with dew, the grass is as if it is in hibernation mode. Preparing for winter the grass is cold, the grass is stiff, the grass is lifeless. The sun moves to its zenith, the grass regains life from the sun for a few hours of the day. The sun is the source of all life, the sun is going down, everything is dying. Everything is losing life as the sun is leaving, nature is going into a temporary state of hibernation, until tomorrow. When this field regains life for those few precious hours of the day when the sun is strong, when the sun is strongest.

Autumn Walk

This is the time where the chimneys give off that wood burning smell that makes you feel safe and cozy when you’re outside. Outside wearing that old flannel you found under your bed along with a pair of your dad’s old gloves. You feel that brisk touch of the air on the tip of your nose and around the naked skin right below your neck line. You walk past those friendly neighbors with the black and white cat. They are hanging up a wreath woven with the complexion of autumn. The colors are held together with twine, forming a welcoming circle hanging on the white door. The warm glow of the sun shines down through a canopy of painted leaves; illuminating the path in front of you. Walking down to the local café, you let the sun radiate off your face, making you feel alive. Outside the red apartment, right beside the café, a little girl runs and jumps into a pile of leaves that her dad has raked up. Throwing the leaves up in the air, her dad takes pictures. A perfect fall life. You walk into the café with a smile. As you open the door, a bell makes a welcoming ring to invite you in. The cashier comes to you; you order a tall cup of pumpkin spice tea, the perfect flavor for autumn. You smile and give a tip and wave as you walk out the door. You’re making your way back home with the soothing cup of tea in your hands. Every time you take a sip you appreciate your surroundings more and more, almost like the tea is opening your eyes. Walking along this road you come across a path that you’ve noticed before, but has never been as appealing as it is now. The orange and red tree tops create almost an arch; the trees come together at the top embracing each other’s jubilant colors. Your eyes dance around; from looking at the tree tops, to patches of blue sky, to the pebbles on the dirt path. You look straight ahead, and come to see a house. This house isn’t just a normal neighbor house. It is more like a log cabin, with maybe five rooms in all. The warm light of the fire place is glowing in the windows. The smell of wood burning and apple pie (the kind grandma makes on Thanksgiving) takes over your senses. Out back there is a man, probably around sixty five years old pressing apples to make cider. Four gallons of cider sit on the steps leading up to the deck. Overhead hangs a clothes line with a blue and white checkered picnic sheet. You take a few quite steps back, not wanting to disturb them. You plop down into a comforting pile of leaves. They are living the life of fall. You spread your arms across the pile and lay your head back into the heap. Around you are all colors of brown, you pick out one leaf. It is a green leaf with tips of red; you put it in the pocket of your flannel. As you look up in the sky you see a big bird flying in circles, along with a smaller bird. It must be wonderful to be looking down upon this mural of green, red, yellow, orange, and brown. They fly with a sense of freedom and acceptance. The yearling slowly starts drifting from the path of the bigger bird. Closing your eyes, letting the smell of leaves enter your nose, you think about the yearling flying over the world longing for something new. Longing for change.

Fall is a new beginning, a time for change. This fall, in particular, is my time. Noticing the life of other people; such as the little girl and her dad or the old couple living in the moment. Life of nature; like the leaves changing and falling, pine needles turning brown and flying through the air. Nature ties everything together. It brought the little girl and her dad joy, and a picture to frame. And the old couple seem to base their entire lives around nature. Nature is a beautiful thing that is often ignored. I used to ignore it, and take it for granted. I’ve learned in these past few months that we should base our lives off of it. We should appreciate every aspect of it. Let the smell of campfire swirl into your nose, feel the crisp and cool air wrap its arms around you, and let that cup of tea warm you from the outside in. And let your eyes take in the colors of the squash in the gardens, leaves on the trees, and apples above your head. Embrace nature, embrace fall. Let it make your day; don’t wait for people to make your day. Let nature be, let it live in your soul.

Thanksgiving

When I think about Thanksgiving an automatic feeling of warmth comes over my body. The thought of sitting around the table with all of my family, with the smell of all kinds of delicious foods in the air, puts me in a comfortable spot. As soon as I see the leaves turning various shades of reds and oranges I know one of my favorite holidays is right around the corner.

The night before Thanksgiving, it's nothing but chaos at my house. Other than Christmas, this is the only time my family works together in the kitchen. It's always refreshing. Falling asleep to the smell of warm apple pie fills me with anticipation of the next day, a day that only comes once a year.

I wake up to the sound of my mom working hard in the kicthen, and right away I'm put to work getting the house ready for family to arrive. As soon as they arrive any bit of stress is relieved and nothing but laughter and casual talk fills the air. Plates clatter, stories are told, never a sad moment except when we take a minute to remember the family that would have given anything to be there with us.

After everyone leaves, its back to the kitchen for a late night of cleaning, but honestly it's worth every minute of it.

Autumn

Ben Harrington

Comp 11

Descriptive Essay

The breeze is cool, but not unpleasantly so. The soft morning sun is warm on my face, and I look around and marvel at the beauty of nature. The grass is still a deep green, and it ripples as the wind passes through it. The tall pines stand high and proud, while the maples and oaks beneath them have begun to blush the color of the season. Some are dark red, and others, vivid yellow. The leaves hum delicately in the easy wind, while the birds sing to the world from within their depths.

Autumn does not bring the oppressive heat and humidity of summer. It does not bring the biting dry cold of winter. It does not bring the torrents of rain that force us inside and make our basements overflow in spring. Rather, it is the perfect blend of cool warmth, soft sunlight and gentle wind that combine to make autumn the perfect season.

Fall Ocean

By: Brooks Wood

The grainy sand is dark and hard; it has settled into the beach with the new season. The soft white sand has come and gone with the summer. No longer do your feet sink deep into the delicate surface; they stomp on the top of the rigid surface. There is no crater where your foot once was, all that remains is a slight imprint of the pattern on the sole of your shoe. The Nike symbol is the only recognizable mark among the imprints in the sand. The sky ahead of you is dark, only a few island lights catch your eye as you pan across the otherwise dark scene. As you tilt your head back, the sky becomes lighter. The sky on top of you is lighter than in front, and the one behind you is almost fully illuminated. The sun is just barely setting now and it hangs above the trees as if waiting for you to finish your business. You walk down towards the water, the wind pushes hard against you, it presses your jeans tightly against your legs. The harsh bitter wind rips its way through the seams in your clothing and chills you deeply. The wind shoots over the tops of the waves, pushing just enough water off the top to create small amounts of foam. How uninviting the black water looks, why would anyone go closer? Yet you trudge forward. You approach the water, there is a pause as you wait for the water and it waits for you. The water crawls up the beach, dragging itself up to your feet. It just barely touches your feet, it surrounds your feet but they remain dry for the water is not high enough yet. You wait for the next wave, it comes just a little bit higher than the last and you bend down for a touch. Your fingers anticipate the freezing water and they pause just above the surface. You delicately touch the tips of your fingers in and the water holds on, its freezing grip is surprisingly enticing. It dares you to hold your hand there, and you plunge it deeper and the cold shoots up your arm into your core. How could something so cold do anything but kill, yet nevertheless it's necessary for life? Now you are satisfied and you retreat from the water. The sun has now sunk down further and it sits just above your destination. You walk up the beach, your feet crunching on the hard sand with every step. The beach is completely different in the fall: it has new wind, new sand, and new water. The summer beach has gone, and the fall beach has arrived.

Connotations

Miles Winzeler

“Autumn Connotations”

The transformation of summer to autumn is the most dramatic change of the seasons. It takes essentially one day for nature to shift itself so rapidly. Whether it is early September or mid October, there is always one day when one walks outside and is blindsided by all of the emotions and memories that go hand-in-hand with the fall. And while most feel that autumn truly takes place when the tree lines are decorated in brilliant fiery flavors, the scent and sounds are the truest introduction. Perhaps it is something primal within our instincts, but direct exposure to this raw nature provokes a mental shift in many, myself included. This psychological transformation also summons insignificant sights, sounds, and other memories that can be deemed connotations. With no clear reasoning, these ideas and feelings are glued to your consciousness whenever your eyes catch a striking red leaf or inhale a refreshing autumn breeze.

Every season has a new set, a time to reminisce, a different bundle of unintentional ties to your environment; however those tied with autumn feel like they are of fantasy. It could be the colors, or the leaves, needles, and acorns slowly descending to the ground like snowflakes, yet with greater elegance than the cold. Connotations of various natures rush down on the first windy day as pine needles are shot to the ground like hardened rain or fragile hail. One feels faint prods for attention in the back of his memory as he gazes at the first leaf to flutter and plummet to the sidewalk; only to question why that thought resurfaced so abruptly. In time however, the abundance of autumn senses can only overpower your perspicacity and open the floodgates of nostalgia.

When the first gust of autumn catches me off guard, my mind becomes pleasantly cluttered with a handful of irrelevant puzzle pieces. I think of bad movies, the Smashing Pumpkins, and the abandoned fairgrounds. While none of these thoughts have ever been combined in a recollection, they all travel within the autumn leaves, winds, and aromas. I unknowingly catch myself staring out the windows to the extreme color wheel as the song “Daydream” passively pours into my mind, only to chuckle at the relevancy of it. The bold scent of cool autumn composition sets my mind to even bolder imagery of strolling around the empty fairgrounds with friends now gone. I review these past times and wonder if these remembrances will fade, or if they are forever branded to my mind and for whatever reason, these thoughts will emerge from my memory whenever I am lost in the smell of a brisk autumn afternoon. Personally, I will allow autumn to orchestrate my memory and enjoy the subtle smirks that rise to my face when my thoughts are clouded with warm and careless memories.

Ben Harrington

Comp 11

Descriptive Essay

Autumn

The breeze is cool, but no unpleasantly so. The soft morning sun is warm on m face, and I look around and marvel at the beauty of nature. The grass is still a deep green, and it ripples as the wind passes through it. The tall pines stand high and proud, while the maples and oaks beneath them have begun to blush the color of the season. Some a dark red, and others a vivid yellow. The leaves hum delicately in the easy wind, while the birds sing to the world from within their depths.

Autumn does not bring the oppressive heat and humidity of summer. It does not bring the biting dry cold of winter. It does not bring the torrents of rain that force us inside and make our basements overflow in spring. Rather, it is the perfect blend of cool warmth, soft sunlight and gentle wind that combine to make autumn the perfect season.

The house on the tree

Not a leaf moves.
The lush green trees stand in the valleys of Switzerland. It is summer. I silently look at the unique landscape that will never cease to amaze me. The warm and gentle breeze carries with it the aroma of ripe fruits beginning to rot.
I lose myself, watching that spectacle, and time stops.

Wonderful memories begin to resurface in my mind.
I remember when I was a child with my friends, we met at that place, and we spent the whole day there. We had no thoughts, only a strong desire to be together, and this was enough to make those days unforgettable.

The long and hot days are unfortunately over, and they leave room for the colors of the fall.
Approaching the tree in fact, you may notice a bit of red, yellow, and bronze in the upper leaves.

Now we have grown and we are changed. It is nice to know that people grow and change, but it is even more nice to know that some things never change. Now we don't build the tree house, but we just stay together, to be happy.
It all happens in a flash: the trees are colored in red, and an explosion of color affects the viewer's eyes in disbelief. The warmth of the long summer days is finished, and now the freezing cold mornings frost the last green lawn of the year.

Then a brief gust of wind--and behold the first leaf falls in autumn.

My Childhood

by Annika


I still remember so well how my older sister and I were running around on the streets with all our friends. That was great ! As a child you don’t worry about whether something is dangerous or not.
I can still hear the voices of all mothers calling behind their children to watch out! But as I said,as a child one does not worry. All the children were always laughing; we had lots of fun.
And if one had flown and was filthy, they only thought: Do not worry, Mom has a waching machine!
In winter, all the kids put on snowsuits, grabbed shovels, and jumped around out in the snow, collecting snowflakes and sliding down from those large snowy mountains. At the end of our city, we have a little hill. We always walked to it. Mostly I put myself back on the sled, and my sister had to drag me. She was older and stronger, and I was still so small.
Then in spring, we slowly took out our shovels to play in the sand. We had a first class sandpit in the garden, all the children went there. Then we built sand castles and baked cakes out of sand. But of course we didn’t eat them.
In my town there is a beautiful lake and in summer you can find every single child there, all together with their parents to bathe. Everyone had an air mattress, and if not, we shared.
And the autumn was always the nicest time of year. It was very warm outside, but not too hot. All the children were on bicycles or skates on the streets.
One thing I remember is how my older sister and I always ran to the church to collect chestnuts. The one who found the biggest was the winner. After that we walked home, to make chestnuts dudes with mom. This was always a lot of fun. We placed the small dudes on the window sill or gave them to our neighbors as gifts.
In the fall, we also flew kites, but for some reason it didn’t work for me. I was probably too small and too weak to hold such a huge kite. But it was great to watch my sister as she has steered the kite on a string. That was enormous fun.
Altogether, I had a great childhood.

Collage of Fall

by kris

On a chilly September day in the national stadium of Denmark, I am joined by my dad and grandpa, and the thousands of fans that have made the journey. They’re here but it’s like they aren’t, all I hear are the ‘importants’, the whistle, the thumping of cleats and the two voices of my greatest role models. As if on a different frequency, these sounds travel on the red carpet of my ear, leaving the noisy fans brushing off my ear lobes and passing quickly. This place is familiar; it is the battle ground for my hero’s dreams.



Bright and early, even before the birds have started to sing, I am out. Sitting on ‘my’ bench at my favorite spot, just me and the old hemlock towering before me. My eyes are fixed to the sun beams flaring across the plain, melting the early morning dew, converting it from extra weight, like small backpacks for the grass blades, into thirst quenchers for the hot soil. The glass blades bow as the small liquid crystals glide off their wings and drip into their roots.



It’s an early morning, on my ‘turf’, my battleground. Where I am the hero, a part of ‘history’, my history. I stroll in, with a casual ‘swag’ as if I own this place, my comfort level has instantly risen. As I lace my cleats I see that I have been beaten to these sanctioned grounds, not by people, but by a dozen sprinklers all hissing at me. I don’t mind, for this beautiful sight is not for one person to own. It is to be burnt into memory and passed through the corners of the earth. Like light-sabers the sprinkles are the opposing team, but instead of the familiar hard tackle, I am met with a cold spray of liquid ice across my chest, stunning me for a moment.

Rise

the name is appropriate for its events;
Fall.
life, flowers, leaves;
Fall.
at the weathered hands of nature,
of frost and dew and cold.
hopes, plans, dreams;
Fall.
because the penitentiary beckons:
summer's liberation fades from a jubilant shout,
becomes plain spoken and my voice;
Falls.
freedom is now a desperate whisper until
the stoic winter snows envelop the last breath on my lips;
turns it to visible air,
to silence,
to just a fleeting thought.
i;
Fall.
and wonder why there isn't a season by the name of Rise instead of spring.
for it is not a question of new birth,
but a slowly ascending realization of
i will;
Rise.

Mindscape

By Rachel Grady

Sunflowers reach up to the sky; their heads droop over for the weight is too strong. I remember how Grandma always found time to plant them, not just in lines or randomly, but in a circle. They formed a secret hide out for me.

Thriving in the early fall season, they soon attracted bumblebees in search of pollen. Various birds visited the giants, picking at the brown seeds that rested in the center. The bees never bothered me for I sat down making it feel as if they were flying above the clouds. They tended to choose the adults to bother, well, my big brother too. He was so tall. I felt safe down there, for a constant buzzing was all I heard. The bees made their way in and out, over and under the flowers. I guess they just felt comfortable with me. I never did get scared. Their buzzing provided me with energy and I took care of them by watering the sunflowers. They needed me. I thought back how most kids ran away screaming when they saw the fuzzy insect that’s black and yellow, but me, no way. I would ask myself, Why hurt me? Why dislike me? I did nothing but love them. Only the fall season provided sunflowers and bumblebees, so I waited for this time of year every year, and treasured how beautiful nature had become.

***

I lied in my bed, wide-awake at ten thirty-seven p.m. It was a school night and I had a busy day tomorrow. Wonderful, I thought, I couldn’t fall asleep. Every night at this time I would think. All the energy I once had now turned into anxiety. I would think about my family and my soccer team plus everything in between. It was the only time I had during the course of the day to slow down, to calm down and unwind in total silence. No one to interrupt me, or go against my opinion; it was just me. My windows were open and the cool air soon filled my box of a room. Suddenly, the rain started to fall. A downpour from the heavens, as if it had been falling forever, hit the ground with a smack. How quickly this all unfolded. More thoughts raced through my head. Did I finish all my homework? I can’t forget my iPod for my away game tomorrow. Did I feed my fish after school? I forgot to put my retainer in. Oh well, I’m too comfortable now to get up. The rain soothed me, calmed me, and put me into a state of relaxation. The anxiety now released. People were snapping their fingers. Louder. Louder. The air now had a specific scent: leaves, dirt, nature, fall. It was the rain that made this smell come out of hiding. Stress soon left my mind and all thoughts were erased from my psyche. I slept.

***

A blue sky and huge white clouds across the vast openness of the horizon called my name. Yesterday was a fall day. I had put on my jeans and a sweatshirt to match the temperature. Wind moved the clouds at a constant rate and made them into new shapes. I sat down on the cold grass and leaves, a giant butterfly and a lop-sided rocket ship collided above me in the clouds. The calmness from before, now slowly moved into a state of focus and the wind picked up. Hundreds of leaves scurried across the lawn and floated up into the air. The leaves of trees that lined the property were no longer green; mostly reds this year, along with a few oranges and yellows. It happened so fast I would tell myself; little did I know it would be gone in the blink of an eye. Some already died, brown and crisp, they waited to be raked and bagged. Fall colors were always a special New England gift.

Death

Death

Catastrophic in Life,

Dazzling in nature.

A cancer patient

given three precious months to

Live

family distraught.

Months earlier that family goes outside

to play football.

Running, jumping in the leaves on the ground,

Thinking nothing of the glorious smell of

Decaying leaves.

In fact, they enjoy the musty smell of

Dead and Rotting

vegetation.

Death is Tragic

Death is Beautiful

Death is human

Death is inspiring

Death is heart breaking

A young girl lying in bed

in a coma.

Flurries of doctors and nurses rush about

Trying to keep her

Alive,

wake her up.

Her parents lost in the chaos,

mourning for their baby girl.

Outside, the trees seem to be

Dying.

The leaves have changed from emerald green

to ruby red.

Squirrels run around,

trying to store as much food as possible.

A mother and her children watch these squirrels,

amused by the furry creatures

Frantic Urgency.

Death is Tragic

Death is Beautiful

Death is human

Death is inspiring

Death is heart breaking

An elderly man waits in his room

to be helped out of bed.

He knows he is

Deteriorating

and will Die soon.

He has resigned himself to it.

A mile away,

three children are playing outside.

They love being able to see their breath.

They find simple pleasure in the pretty leaves all around them.

They have resigned themselves

to enjoying the last few beautiful weeks of good weather

knowing that soon they will be stuck inside,

that everything will be

Dead.

Beauty and Tragedy

Death is both of these