Editor’s Note

Maya Angelou wrote, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” As a creative writer, I can say that there is nothing that sparks fear in a writer like a blank page. Each student who contributed a piece to this year’s spring edition of The Sextant challenged themselves by communicating their stories and passions with our entire community. In this issue of The Sextant, Upper School students have submitted creative pieces describing various emotions—telling stories taking place all around the country. Some students shared intimate short stories while others contributed beautifully composed poems. Our tremendous faculty and staff have continued to push students to exceed their own talents in and outside the classroom beyond what they believed possible. In addition, we feature beautifully-crafted select student art with various photographs and colorful ceramic sculptures that give our readers a view into Belmont Hill’s Arts curriculum. We would like to thank our school’s English and Arts faculty who have assisted in the creation of the 2023 Winter Sextant especially our advisor, Dr. Tift, and all the teachers who have supported us including Mr. Doar, Mr. Duarte, Ms. Bradley, Mr. Kaplan, Mr. Leonardis, and Ms. McDonald.

Editor in Chief, Jake A. Kornmehl ’24

Staff

Jake Kornmehl - Editor in Chief

Jack Abbrecht - Associate Editor

Max Glick - Staff Manager

Mark Price - Staff

Forrest Campbell - Staff

Sam Davis - Staff

Ezra Lee - Staff

The Ocean Rolls On Waves crash on the beach

Rise, fall, like the breast of God

Tides wave me goodbye

-Max Wagner

Stephen Agular, Form IV

At Day’s End

I watch the sun set

Dwindling like a fading hope

Skies are set aflame

Who am I to be?

By Max Wagner

I sought to know who I was to be In a world so vast and strange. A brother, a son, a tired warrior, Fighting for my place In life.

Yet seek as I would, I would not find The knowledge for which I would wish.

I travel the world, Reflecting, Searching for holy men.

But only shams and imposters I found At the peak of each temple and rock.

And yet hearing whispers everywhere

Of a man, enlightened through pain

Who sat on highest peak.

I decided to take the climb

To find what I would seek.

I set my feet on bladed rock

And snow and shaded glen

To reach the summit I saw

Ahead in the slicing wind.

I cut my hands, emptied my waterskin wore out my clothes, tired my limbs.

Yet reaching that for which I strove

Broken bruised and bleeding

I looked around collapsing.

No wizened face, only a stony maw

Despite the efforts of my pain, I dragged myself to it

Seeing it was the only way

That I could understand my climb.

Inside the cave, a single light

A shining stalactite

And a pool of mirrors, shimmering still.

And so I continued on

And when I reached that shining pool

A drop of blood spilt,

Dropping through the icy surface

Without the slightest ripple.

I waded in on hands and knees

And the water moved not.

Down I looked through clouded eyes

At the surface below myself

And saw what I had not yet dared see

A perfect portrait of all of me.