The Tree

By: Laila Brady

Soft soil
whispers silently around me,
no light reaches me,
no sound
penetrates my dark, tranquil abode.
Above, I know there is sun.
It glows like a beacon
showering the delicate, lacy grass
as I sit waiting, listening,
until I break through the surface.

Growing, stretching,
I reach for the sun,
and bask in a robust burst of noon light,
shattering the blue sky
soaking in its brilliance.
I sigh,
leaves shaking, branches twirling.

Many years I have stood,
through winters, springs,
summers, and falls.
I have weathered storms,
outlasting the birds
and the frogs
that live in the dark, murky waters
of the pond.
I have seen
the passing of day
and the lasting night
many times.

Now I rest.
Laying down my branches,
looking up one more time
and making room for new generations.
Giving to the earth,
even after I fall to the ground
with an echoing crash
sounding through the forest.
even after the sun sets,
and all is dark.

Laila Brady is 13 years old; she lives in Hallowell, Maine.  A fun fact about Laila is that she plays the violin.


Image by veeterzy at Pexels

... in the summer

By: Harriet McKane

creatures buzzing in thick swarms
itchy skin
misty air creeping around wet ground
bell-like bird calls cut through tall trees
rays of golden light dapple pine needle covered ground
bare feet bounce through fiery dandelion fields
old mud from spring remains under the lush grass
lake water touches our skin for the first time this year
summer has begun

cold blue skies are shattered by bright popping colors
dry air replaces June’s wet muggy smog
soft muzzles touch our hands
hoof prints in a dusty arena
water buckets and stalls
a sky blue pool
splashing our faces with cool water

heat pounds down on the earth
from a clementine orange sun
a never ending road to an unknown destination
black and white cats plopped on a hardwood floor
a squealing pig
new country and Taylor Swift
a road trip
roller coasters and fried dough

tips of leaves fade into electric orange
acorns hit the brown grass
heat fades into crisp cool breezes
a last dip in our favorite pond
squirrels scatter
the mid-coast summer has ended


Harriet McKane is 13 years old; she lives in Wiscasset, Maine.  Harriet likes to ride a chestnut mare named Chase; she has a crazy bunny named Nyla and she plays the flute.


image by Kevin Derrick at Pixabay