Issuu

Painting by Micha Updegraff ‘27

Painting by Mary Orlando ‘24

Painting by Lanae Vargas ‘27

Painting by Brianna D’Lallo ‘25

Painting by Raylee Stearns ‘27

by Cameron Conheady

Artwork

Painting by Amy Oliveri

Painting by Genevieve Bogue ‘26

Mixed Media Work by Emma Squalli ‘28

Artwork by Makayla Putney ‘26

by Katie Chapados

Dangerous Disasters

A horrible Blizzard blocking

Cars and planes

Dangerous whiteness

Everywhere scaring

Family and friends

Get away

Hide safely

By Emma Vornovitsky

Photography

Night on the Horizon

All the stars above Night is dark but also light Witness the black sky

By Caden Selim-Reinicke

A GArden BeAuty

Butterflies

BeAutiful, colorful

flyinG,

AmAzinG,

flutterinG soArinG in the clouds insect

By JAnA minstermAn

Sophia DiLoretto, Grade Six

The Loop of Glory

by Rebeccah Bancroft

A cold wind passes through, I feel a chill pass down my spine. I hear noise in the reeds behind me… I look. A rabbit hops out and I sigh with relief. I slowly turn my head back towards the glassy pond. I miss Grandma. I think about how she’s probably looking out her window in the nursing home, lonely watching the moon rise, without Grandpa. The same moon I see, sadness fills me with dread.

Artwork by Caitlin Swartz ‘25

I hear my dog in the distance. I feel better knowing he’s nearby. He quickly runs up to me and softly licks my bear leg. Although he makes me feel a bit better the sadness comes back crashing back down on me. Thoughts of my dad come, losing him was like losing a giant piece of my life. I wish he had never gotten sick. It’s a sad part of the loop of glory that is life.

Starlight. Sparkling shores. Supple white sand. The view is scenic, yet out here is secluded. So detached from the human race; so distant from the human I love. A land devoid of life, other than myself. A warm tropical paradise turned a frigid nautical prison. We vowed an everlasting alliance- so when will they return? Are they incessantly scouring the seas, or is my love unrequited? I cannot indulge in nature’s serenity when this question echoes abroad fruitlessly. Like a puzzle missing a piece, there are no feasible answers at hand.

The periodic crash of the waves drowns out all of my thoughts. Suddenly, I go from sitting to submerged in the moon’s reflection. Cascading into an ocean of beauty, I am ever lonely. Unspoken words fill up the space of my lungs. Touch starved skin eats away at my skeleton. All is sullied and astray and somber. The distance between myself and them renders me an empty shell; my arms are empty. The sea beckons. Ever encompassing solitude.

Mary Orlando ‘24

Drawing by Caitlin Swartz ‘25

Digital Art by Adelai

Herberger ‘28

“This is digital art rendered using a ray-tracing algorithm, and coded using Scratch.”

Night on the Horizon

All the stars above Night is dark but also light Witness the black sky

By Caden Selim-Reinicke

Safe Space

Home

Cozy, spacious

Inviting, slumbering, comforting

Calm place for me

Family

By Gianna Infante

Grey

Grey is like the smell of mountain air

Grey is like the sound of wind

Grey is like the taste of fog

Grey is like the feel of morning mist

Grey is like the feel of cold stone

Grey is like the sound of a waterfall

Grey is like the sound of ocean waves

Grey is like the smell of smoke

Grey is like the taste of fish

Grey follows me

~ Caden S-R

Color poetry

AC Little School

PhotoGrAPhy By KAtie chAPAdos ‘26

Artwork by Makayla Putney

‘26

Photograph by Max Muller ‘28

Obituary Scene by Sivan Yosha ‘26

“Thank you, it smells delicious,” Zara says, smoothing out the wrinkles of her tunic.

“My pleasure,” Sister Celia says. She holds steady eye contact for what feels like a whole minute before adjusting the veil around her head and stepping out of the room. “I’ll wake you in the morning, sleep well,” the door shuts behind her. Zara hurriedly begins eating the food, a crisp seabass, roasted vegetables, and a sweet pink juice that tastes of pears. As Zara brings the plate to her lap, the fork rolls off and under the bed frame. She leans down, moving her hand back and forth on the floorboards beneath the bed. Zara reaches further into the darkness of the creaky wood when her hand grazes a softened piece of paper. She crouches on her hands and knees, dipping her head to pull out the paper. It’s crumpled and yellowed, curling at the edges. It’s written in cursive black ink, faded with time, a small picture is paper clipped at the corner of the pages. In it is a young woman not much older than Zara with chestnut skin, long black curls, and a small tattoo of a leaf behind her ear. She smiles wide in the picture, dimples seeming to crawl across her entire cheeks. Zara unclips the photo, placing it on the bed beside her and begins to scan the pages.

Name: Amy Yadav

April 11, 1987 - August 8, 2015

Amy was born in Wellsboro Pennsylvania to parents Shane and Emily Driver. She went to Wellsboro High School from 9-12th grade before moving out of state to attend the University of Colorado to study Geology. There she met her husband. Amy is survived by husband Mike Yadav, parents Shane and Emily, younger brother Leo, and countless close friends. In her spare time, Amy enjoyed ceramics, hiking, and spending time with her dog. She loved the outdoors and would bring her brother back rocks from her travels. Donations can be made to environmental charities in Amy’s name.

Cause of Death: Amy was visiting Albania for work and became very dehydrated one day resulting in her sudden death. Amy was out for a swim in the gorgeous Albanian lake one day when the current became too strong and she tragically drowned.

The words wave and radiate on the page blurring and webbing in all directions. It slips from Zara’s hands, floating to the ground. She places her cheeks into her palms, massaging the lines of fear painting her face. Zara reads the Cause of Death again, noting the shakiness in the handwriting and perfection of the letters. Amy Yadav beams back at her. The photo is grainy and slightly blurry but the life in Amy’s features glow with vividness. There’s no pain in her face, no worry, no stress. It seems that at any moment, she’ll come to life; tucking a black curl behind her ear revealing the simple green leaf tattoo. Zara folds the obituary, lifting her mattress and tucking it beneath. She sets the half eaten plate of food on the other side of the room, now void of all hunger. Regardless of the cause of death, Amy was innocently in Albania when she became encoiled in the grasp of these nuns before she found herself either at the bottom of the lake or lying blistered on the sand.

With trembling hands, Zara throws the pink juice over the fire, the glass slipping from her sweaty palms and rolling on the carpet. Wafts of sweet hibiscus dance with the earthy scent of grass before rain. Zara coils on the bed, heaving fervently as her gaze glues to the cross watching over her. The room darkens as the last of the fire fizzles out but the cross appears to still radiate. She pulls her knees close and tucks her chin between caving shoulders. Zara feels heavy with the life of a dead woman spelled out beneath her. The air is silent, not a footstep, drop, song, or whisper daring to break the silence. With muscles tightened, Zara surrenders to exhaustion. She dreams of Amy Yadav.

Artwork by Marina Ellmaker ‘25