Winter
The howl of the wind The crisp air And the crunching of boots on a bed of snow The brightest white you will ever see The evergreens struggle against the wind
Issue: <span>January 2018</span>
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The howl of the wind
The crisp air
And the crunching of boots on a bed of snow
The brightest white you will ever see
The evergreens struggle against the wind
That morning at breakfast, Dylan sat perched on his usual seat at the table, sketching happily. I grabbed the milk and a spoon and sat down. I poured myself a heaping bowl of Cheerios, most of which spilled on the table. Dylan’s pencil scribbled away, and he periodically blew huge breaths over his paper to get rid of the shreds of eraser.
The sun raised its head over a cold California coast. This sun was a special sun. It was the first sun of the year. There was to be a special gathering at the beach. It is what is called a “paddle-out.” Cars slowly gathered at the beach. The people inside the cars exited and came to the shore. No one talked, all they did was look at the horizon, which was light red from the coming sun.
Cloud and Wallfish by Anne Nesbet;
Candlewick Press, 2016; $16.99
Who knew that a regular-looking book could have such an impact on readers and how they view the world? Going into Cloud and Wallfish, a historical fiction novel, I was a bit doubtful on how Anne Nesbet was going to weave such a tragic and complex topic like the Berlin Wall into youth literature.
The howl of the wind
The crisp air
And the crunching of boots on a bed of snow
The brightest white you will ever see
The evergreens struggle against the wind
As I look around me, surveying my surroundings, everything seems different. The sunlight that is spilling onto the ocean sparkles like a thousand gems, and I’m lead to wonder if there actually are a thousand gems floating on the clear surface. The palm trees sweep over me, like protectors, never tiring of providing me shade. A seagull whooshes over me, bringing freedom to my body, also.
I kneel down to the river
And say my prayers
As I hear the water
flowing and rolling
I think about how freedom has overgrown
The magnificent mud of the Mississippi
I hear birds skim the treetops
And remember how, when I was a little girl,
My mom walked me there, and
I saw the brown water
I feel memories drift on the surface and
See my shadow through the deep.