The Horrendous Hydra In The Untamed Sea - Lauren Bebrin
Madison - Delany Cassidy
Mt. Webster Mist - Natalie Low
Old reservoir - Madeline Jacobson
Relaxing Voyage-Eliza Melon
On Mountain Day at Holderness-Nguyen Cao Nguyen
A poem on the place our minds were during mindfulness
Zachary Rosenbaum
Outback Experience - Henry Hood
Allegory of a Dragon - Clara Peschel
Corn - Clara Peschel
Icarus - Clara Peschel
Untitled - Brooke Cippoletti
An Early Spring Excursion - Ruohui “Sissi” Ma
Home - Ruohui “Sissi” Ma
Scarlet Vengeance - Ruohui “Sissi” Ma
Wall - Solana Colon
Summer 2022 6-Word Memoirs - Lindsay Sidore
Easy Hike-Mia Dudley.pdf
COVER: STELLA GRANAT ’26
Untitled BECKETT LEHR ’27
A poem on the place our minds were during mindfulness
ZACHARY ROSENBAUM ’26
I recline on the sand with nothing but miles of water and islands before me.
Looking through the crystal clear waters I observe nothing but sand and coral
The small waves go back and forth making a barely noticeable sound
They make a line of dark, wet sand that gradually increases til the cool water meets my toes
The sun-heated sand warms the back of my legs
I grab a handful and slowly pour it on myself
The feeling of the weightless powder trickling down my thighs almost tickles
I gently lower my back staring straight at the sky
The light blue almost matches the color of the water
With only one smooth brush stroke of translucent grey clouds on it
My eyes are shielded from the sun by a perfect palm tree leaf
But the feeling of the rays on my chest assures me that it is still there
I lay for hours watching the sky and the occasional bird soaring above, Hearing the water come crashing down,
Feeling the sun hit my body,
There is nothing more that I need
I am from
CLAIRE ECCLESTON ’26
I am from “HOL-DER-NESS”, I am from Saturday game days, skating on frog pond, and late-night bonfires with paint-smudged faces like red sauce on pizza.
I am from soft serve ice cream, hot chocolate during games that burns the tip of your tongue, and gooey grilled cheeses on snow days From improv hilarity, bouncy houses at Spring Fest, and sweaty graduations From Randy sneaking me cotton candy and licking my fingers after applesauce cake.
I am from Holderness blue and white “Horns up” and “roll bulls”
I am from kiddy crew, pageant shows, and Mr. Peck’s apples for after-school snacks
I am from the turf sledding hill, bear-catching trees, and knee hockey hallways Where kids roar “f*** Proctor” and “Happy Heads Day” Where you can go all day, only seeing your parents in the Weld lunch line And the joy of welcoming back OB
I am from a legacy of fac brats near and far From 24 brothers and a community of mentors, teachers, coaches, and friends I am from a closet of Holderness shields And a 3rd generation Eccleston
I am from a phrase “ if you mess with the bull you get the horns” And no matter what, a community that will support and love you as long as you live I am from Holderness
Icarus
CLARA PESCHEL ’26
I dream of flying.
Like Icarus, I strap metal to my body Sweeping across wide expanses. Humanity was not designed to fly, to glide Effortlessly. Swooping with an ease Not granted to the ungainly body we inhabit. I fly, and join Icarus as we go higher, faster. Carving through the untouched, a blanket on the earth. Icarus soars higher and I am left behind Shackled by my wings, my mind, mortality.
He reaches for what we cannot accept The futility of flight, aided by wax wings and metal blades. He falls.
It was inevitable, a period to a sentence. I fly on, Icarus crumpled in the white plane behind me, Untouched but for the trail of my flight, his end. Icarus dreamt of falling
Untitled RIVER WERNER ’26
An Opinion: To Chuck, or Not to Chuck
GRAYDON TAYLOR ’25
The woodchuck had the most significance when you first learned of it in first grade. Similar to learning of the anteater, armadillo, or other arbitrary animals, the woodland creature has been on the back burner of the thinking stovetop. So, when one hears the conundrum asking to quantify the amount of wood a woodchuck can chuck, there is a pause. As your standard tongue twister consumer (attempting to say the phrase, then quickly realizing it is harder than it sounds), the thought of a woodchuck “chucking” never came to mind. After embarking on a philosophical odyssey revolving around “chucking”, I find myself carrying an avid determination to express my understanding of the situation.
I could write about how I looked up the definition of “chuck”, and proceed to paste Oxford dictionary into the margins. However, my approach to this enigma varied from (what I assume to be) typical procedures. I first turned to my peers. The people I am often surrounded by hold, what can be imagined, a varied understanding of the true meaning behind “chucking”. The most intriguing response was, credit to my roommate, that “chucking” means gnawing. Other people suggested that it simply means to toss, stack, or cut. Some would argue that “chucking” does not encapsulate one meaning… thus, the debate of chucking falls subject to what the meaning entails. This offers no sort of resolution and is not close to a satisfactory answer.
I propose otherwise. “Chucking” may only be done by a woodchuck itself. A human cannot, by any means, perform or exhibit “chucking”. The woodchuck’s everyday life revolves around wood. My schedule and busyness, in comparison, revolve around many things. My life may be busier, but this is not a reason for concern. If everything a human and a woodchuck did in a day were to be set on an equal scale, the amount of consideration wood calls for outnumbers any specific everyday occurrence in a human’s life. In other words, the woodchuck deals with wood more than the standard human deals with any other occurrence on a day-to-day basis. This said, the woodchuck holds an enlightened perspective and understanding of wood. On a human scale, despite the difference in brain chemistry and mechanics, devoting your life to a single object would result in becoming an undisputed expert in anything to do with that object. Furthermore, the woodchuck has wood in its evolution. Generations and generations of these hairy varmints, always go back to trees.
The driving question: why wood? Other species have caught on as well, such as the woodpecker or beaver. All considered, there must be something special there. Behind the bark, under the roots, within the trunk… wood has more to it than human’s petite, unenlightened brains can imagine. In full circle, “chucking” applies only to the experts. There is no quantifiable amount to “chuck”. This definition behind this word might as well be a part of a language that has not yet been discovered. This is why when someone inquires about how much “chucking” a woodchuck can do, they are at the tip of the iceberg.
The Wrath of Poseidon
ZAHRA KEGODE ’27
“We arrived At that final citadel. He welcomed me And made me stay a month, and asked for news of Troy, the Argive ships, and how the Greeks Went home. I told him everything. At last I told him everything. At last I told him he should send me on my way. So he agreed to help me, and he gave me a bag of oxhide leather and he tied The gusty winds inside it.” (Wilson, Emily (translator). The Odyssey. Book 259, line 12.)
As we sailed in the ancient Aegean sea, the sky met water to create an eternal horizon, My mighty crew and I sailed amid thundering waters Hoping to soon return home to Ithaca. With loyal Achaens, we sail toward distant shores. Led by me, Odysseus, courageous hero of Ithaca.
But for a game of patience as fate had other plans. After escaping the fortitude of the Cyclops’s island. We knew vengeance for our deceit was in our midst Enlisted his Father Poseidon God of the sea to help It became clear to my crew and me in order to go home First, we must battle beasts of the treacherous sea To claim the right to passage homeward bound. As ships glide against currents of vibrant water Poseidon, the stormy god of the sea brews ominous clouds. With vengeance in the strong god’s heart, he cast his wrath on Achaeans with a mischievous plan in hand. A grudge against me for blinding his son,
The Cyclops Polyphemus, the god plots
Secretly unleashing sea spirits bound to him, To do his bidding with vengeful intent.
Twisting waters swirling clouds to create
An ominous mist from which creatures emerge With fury onto Achaens’ fleets, Following behind awaiting the moment to strike.
Though Poseidon divisive not rely solely On minions’ work but himself ensured Our crew wouldn’t leave his grasp unscathed. With a flick of the trident Poseidon commands winds, Thrashing them onto sea threatening to capsize Our mighty fleet and dash hopes of return.
Caught in the path of Poseidon’s furious rage
Achaens struggle ships tossed like toys ‘gainst sea god’s wrath. Desperate to escape we battle the relentless wind
And ocean’s fury devising plan to outwit Their ruthless force with trusted companions I lay out my plans as time ticks away
With Poseidon’s men lurking in the shadows
Waiting for their moment to strike. But as they were tempted by the gift
From Aelous Odysseus’s crewmate
Opens the bag of wind and unleashes
A breath of chaos upon their mighty ships
Catapulting them so fast back to the land of Aeolus
Poseidon men could barely keep up back to the land of Aeolus
“Why are you here again?
You had bad luck? What happened? Surely we helped you go on your way and meant for you to reach your homeland, where you wished to go.” (Wilson, Emily (translator). The Odyssey. Book 14, line 63)
Untitled STELLA REGAN ’26
Chameleon
ISABELLA
ROMERO ’24
It was a gloomy, snowy day at Higgins Middle School. After eating my buffalo chicken and cheese sandwich with mustard on a Sara Lee roll, a snack bag of Goldfish, and a Pacific Cooler Capri Sun, it was time to go back to the sixth-grade Stingrays cluster for cluster time. I walked into Mr. Despres’s class because that is where my friends and I would usually hang out during indoor cluster time. I walked over to a table where four of my friends were sitting.
“What are you guys up to?” I asked curiously.
“Lauryn is putting Dutch braids in our hair so we can all twin,” Taylor responded. Alyssa nodded her head in agreement while Isabel gave a thumbs up since Lauryn was doing her braids first.
“Oh, that sounds fun. Lauryn, do you think you could put Dutch braids in my hair?” I asked, hoping she would say yes because I so badly wanted to twin with all of them. Lauryn looked at me and started laughing. I stood there, a gust of laughter hitting me like an unexpected winter storm, leaving me frozen in disbelief.
“What’s so funny, I never said any jokes?” I responded defensively with my arms crossed, unsure of why she was acting so weird.
“Come on Bella, you aren’t that dumb, are you?” Isabel backed up Lauryn.
“Isabel I know you aren’t talking, I am in smarter classes than you.” I defended myself to them, “Why don’t you want to put braids in my hair, I thought we were all friends?” I asked, hurt from this interaction I was having with my socalled friends.
“You have black people hair, I can’t do your
hair. Nappy head” Lauryn said with a laugh; my other “friends” followed along and laughed as well. Looking back at that interaction, I realized that Lauryn is a brick because my hair is not nappy; I have loose 2C-3A curls. She must’ve just learned that word and decided it would be so funny to insult me with it in front of everyone. I felt my heart sink down, a heavy stone sinking to the pit of my stomach, while an unfamiliar burning sensation clawed at my chest. At a loss for words, I turned around and walked to the bathroom. Thoughts rushed through my mind while my sixth-grade eyes stared at myself in the mirror; all I saw was a confused girl with teary, bloodshot eyes and black people hair. I’m literally one of them, why are they being so mean? I am not black, my mom is white. Maybe I am black? What am I? I don’t want to be black, I want to be white. I need to get rid of my black hair. That night I begged and pleaded with my mom to straighten my hair, I was even willing to pay her my $3 allowance money so she would say yes. Fortunately for me, she did not take my money and she did straighten my hair for me. I sat on the blue and white throw pillow on the floor while my mom sat on the couch. The Real Housewives of New Jersey played in the background while the rghighrihf sound of the blow dryer filled over the fighting of Theresa and Melissa, my ears stinging from the hot air hitting them and the smell of burnt hair engulfs my nose.
“Why did you want me to straighten your hair?” My mom asked, running the flat iron over small sections of my almost pretty hair.
“So I can show Lauryn that I’m not black. So I can have pretty hair like my friends”
“I just want straight hair this week, it will be so much easier to do and I can sleep in a little bit longer.” I lied content with my answer. The next day, I put on my best outfit, applied mascara, and made sure my straight hair was perfect to make it clear to everyone that I wasn’t black and didn’t have black people’s hair. When I walked into school I immediately got so many compliments on my hair and I was feeling myself. I never got compliments when I wore my hair natural, so getting told that I looked pretty and that these people loved my hair when it was straight boosted my confidence. Conforming to look like a white girl was paying off, so I did it for the rest of my time at Higgins Middle School. If I could go back in time and replace my vulnerable eleven-year-old self with my mature eighteen-year-old self now and go through this experience again, there are a lot of things I would tell myself. If you feel like you have to change your hair in order to hang out with the people you want to, find a better group of friends. Hair is inanimate; it doesn’t talk, it doesn’t have a personality, and it doesn’t define your identity or who you are as a person.
It was a sunny Friday afternoon and I walked off of the bus feeling so awesome. There was one week left until school ended and I would officially be a seventh grader, I got a good grade on my science test, and later on tonight was the end of the school year dance. Arriving home, I could not contain my eagerness to get ready for the dance. I put on my red dress with pineapples that I had bought with my mom the night before to fit the Hawaiian theme. I did my usual makeup routine which consisted of mascara and lipgloss, and my mom even gave me permission to put on blush since
it was a special occasion. With my Converse on and smooth, straight hair thanks to my mom who went over it with a flat iron to make sure that it didn’t look frizzy, I was ready to have the night of my life. Time passed, and finally, it was time to go to the dance. The atmosphere was electric; I had been looking forward to this dance since it was announced. It was my first middle school dance, an experience I have always missed because of basketball. This was the night I would dance with my first boy and maybe even get my first kiss, and I was ready. I was talking to Ashley, Niah, Sabrina, and Brianna, and we were all having a fun time and it got even better when DJ Brownie put on Juju on that Beat. We all started screaming and got ready to do the dance. “I want y’all to do this, do this dance now, Juju on that Beat” played through our ears and they all stopped dancing, but I failed to notice because I was getting so into it. Suddenly I heard a bunch of laughs and I stopped, confused as to what was so funny.
“Bella, you are so white” Ashley laughed and everyone nodded their heads agreeing.
“You need your black card taken away from you” Niah kept going and the laughter got even louder, I furrowed my eyebrows.
“You want to be white so bad, you straighten your hair all the time and you can’t dance; you don’t deserve to be black.” Sabrina ended with. I felt a burning sensation underneath my eyes and I was paralyzed, I did not know what to do. The song ended and Perfect by Ed Sheeran came on, the song everyone slowed danced to. Fidel, the boy I had the biggest crush on, came up to me and asked me if I wanted to dance. I had just gotten flamed by the black girls about not being able to dance. I couldn’t imagine what Fidel, a black
boy, would say to me if he saw my dancing too. Deciding it was the best decision, I said no and walked away and sat at a table by myself, watching everyone have a good time. The night I was so excited for was ruined because I was too white. When the dance ended, I got into my mom’s car.
“How was the dance?” she asked me.
“Can you sign me up for a hip-hop class?” I responded, not wanting to talk about the terrible night I had to live through.
Reflecting on that night, I really let comments about the way I danced dictate how the night I was looking forward to going. Not knowing how to dance does not make you white or whatever those girls were saying. I genuinely conformed and convinced my mom to put me in a dancing class because I thought it would make people like me. The hip-hop class didn’t even help; I still don’t know how to dance and that is totally fine. My freshman year of high school is when I really started to learn to be content with myself. I have received so many out-of-pocket comments that my middle school self would be so upset over, but now I don’t even let it get to me. I know I don’t need to conform or code switch depending on who I am around, that is so tiring. I was so mentally exhausted because I always changed the way I acted and the way I looked depending on
who I was around and that is just not healthy. At my freshman year volleyball banquet, I decided to wear my hair naturally, down and curly. My hair would usually be in either a ponytail with a Nike tie headband or straight, so this was different for me. I went to a predominantly white catholic school so I was nervous about what my teammates would say. When I walked in I heard actual gasps from my teammates. They all went up to me and started complimenting my natural hair and my heart filled with joy, no one had ever complimented my natural hair.
All my life I have been told, “You are too white to be black” or “You are too black to be white” and to my middle school self, I want to leave you with this quote from Maya Angelou that sums up your journey of accepting your identity perfectly, “You alone are enough, you have nothing to prove to anybody.” I would consider my middle school self a chameleon, a type of lizard known for changing the color of their skin to blend in and avoid predators. This reflects the way I used to adapt and conform to my surroundings to fit in with the different groups of people I would be around. The hardships that I have faced over the years regarding my identity has helped me become the person I am today.
Untitled LINNEA NYQUIST ’25
Mt. Webster Mist
NATALIE LOW ’25
At the same mountain from last time, but with cool clouds and mist.
Grey skies and muddy path, but great company! Little bit of scrambling, on the steep rocks around the top.
Mist felt so nice but quickly became cold when we finally reached the first peak out of four.
Finally reaching ground level and running to the bus,
Happily.
Mountain Day Poem
JASPER WERNER ’25
Red stones silver rain fall
The sky so white and cold air stings; Shiny moss drowned in water Slow long walk,
Wet slippery steep granite climbs, Up towards the moon
Beyond the foggy sky.
Made it to Mount Webster’s Tall rocky peak
End here three hours of sliding on the trail
A freezing climber
With a T-shirt and gray pants
Throws his hands into the clouds,
We did it!
Home
RUOHUI “SISSI” MA ’25
Notes trickle in the beat of our hearts. That wavers and wanes like the willows outside this windowless room From the galaxy of melody.
The two of us plays on, But I had imagined there to be three.
Trio not duo Slo-mo not FOMO* Hey-hi not Goodbye.
Goodbye…
Goodbye…
And we play on, Note after note Searching for the home in our hearts.
Wall
SOLANA
COLON ’24
Life and death, prosperity and strife, Enclosed in a constant plight, Dark battles light, the endless fight,
Twins in persistence, tied in life.
The reflection blurred, lines fading, Grass looking greener across fence, Disguised truth, cycles never-ending,
Search for real, search for more
Burning fire or warm sun’s loving beams, Frigid ice or a cool breeze’s puff, Black and white, divergent colors stark,
Sweet perfection a veil of lies, Unapologetic night, ugly but true, Truth lies in details, What to lose, What to gain
*Fear of Missing Out
Untitled MADELEINE MAHMOUZIAN ’27
Varsity Alpine
COOPER DUGGAN ’27
Burnt Bread
ANNIE PAGE ’25
Green mountains clear rivers flow
Through thick forest and sharp rock clusters; little beech half in rain
Jagged rainy riverbed,
Single fat raindrop falls: Down from the canopy up through streams.
At Arethusa Falls’s
Biggest little waterfall after all day trekking up peaks a piece of bread half burnt to a crisp and crunchy plummets into the fire, Sizzle!
Relaxing Voyage
ELIZA MELLON
’25
Cold air slashes through the warm water As our paddles push us further and further; Just keep paddling Just keep paddling.
Left, Right, Left, Right, FAST,
They’re going to run into us. We make it to the middle, Almost there, Almost to Vermont!
Now? And Then?
JADE WIGGINS ’25
As a devoted fan of classic rock, the struggle often lies in not sharing the same era as my favorite bands. However, the release of “Now and Then” by The Beatles has brought my dream to life.
After almost five decades since The Beatles disbanded, their latest release emerged. On November 2, 2023, countless Beatles aficionados were struck by the emotional resonance of hearing a duet between the youthful John Lennon and the elder Paul McCartney, singing together one last time. Nothing akin to this song has ever materialized before. Who could have predicted that The Beatles would continue to captivate the music industry even now? The narrative is profoundly moving; it seems Lennon deliberately left his song unfinished, almost as if he knew his former bandmates should complete it.
This poignant track was crafted by blending a recording of John Lennon from the late 1970s with the aid of AI, seamlessly blending the old and the new. Following Lennon’s passing, Yoko Ono entrusted the remaining three members with four tracks that Lennon had been working on. It’s as if Lennon intended to leave these fragments incomplete for his former bandmates to pick up. Remarkably, Yoko transitioned from being the catalyst for the band’s breakup to becoming the reason behind their reunion.
Having delved into the nearly eighty-hour documentary “Get Back,” I feel a deeper connection with the band members—not just as artists but as friends. If I were to pass Paul McCartney on the street, we might exchange a casual greeting and move on. However, in this one-way relationship, this song resonates deeply within me. As a Beatles fan in the twenty-first century, the prospect of witnessing my favorite band release a song during my lifetime is exhilarating. Upon listening to the song, its lyrics resonate with my soul. The chorus echoes sentiments like, “Now and then, I miss you. Oh, now and then, I want you to be there for me. Always to return to me.” While it remains uncertain if these lyrics were penned for Paul McCartney, the emotional connection is palpable when they sing those words together.
However, compared to iconic tracks like “Here Comes the Sun,” this song falls short. With Lennon’s sparse lyrical content, the song becomes somewhat repetitive. Without being a Beatles fan or understanding its poignant background, it might come across as just another love song from The Beatles’ repertoire. It serves as a better tribute to The Beatles’ legacy than as a standalone track. Nevertheless, the song’s significance triumphs over its musical composition.
The track encapsulates the history the band has collectively forged. It portrays the present where they continue to create masterpieces while reflecting on their past achievements. Beatles fans were not prepared to bid adieu to the band, and with this new demo, they don’t have to. In the words of Rob Sheffield of Rolling Stone, it is “the final masterpiece that The Beatles—and their fans—deserve.” The Beatles had such an impact on musical history that they had to go out with a bang.
Untitled MAEVE RHATIGAN ’26
Nothing Else
LEON HUANG ’25
Apple pie might just be the sweetest thing I have ever tasted. When the bread crumble on my tongue and dandle my palate, its cocoon of elegance sometimes frightens me that nothing else can taste this good.
How does banana bread taste?
I don’t know and probably will never know just because I don’t want to kill my love of apple pie.
Never knowing might be the best for me so I won’t compare them and pick one over another.
Playing it safe is the quest given by my righteousness. The unspoken rules I have been told was underlined and crossed out at the same time. A vibrant yet distorted image on why xenophobes might just need a hug.
You left, and everything is back to ground zero.
Untitled MAXFIELD PARO ’17
Untitled MAX MARCUS ’25
Allegory of a Dragon
CLARA PESCHEL ’26
Heavy is the head that bears the crown.
But I am no monarch, the weight on my brow Is not regal, not noble. It is necessary.
If we are to stay with the fairytale metaphor I would be the dragon guarding the tower
They put a princess in there, did you know?
The stories confuse us, the dragon and the king
Who guards the princess tower and who keeps her there.
She knows though, we talk sometimes
Between the visits of the knights.
They say they want to rescue her
I am not what keeps her here.
(It’s a heavy burden, to guard the tower
I do not want it, but I bear it regardless.)
Do you know why the princess is in my tower?
To keep her safe, the queen begged the king.
He agreed.
(He will not realize it is him they are keeping her safe from until it is too late.)
Heavy is the head that wears the crown.
Someday that crown will lay at my feet
And my friend will leave my tower.
I hope I never meet her daughter.
Untitled VERE MEYER ’26
Outback Experience
HENRY HOOD ’24
After meticulously going over my bowline and trucker’s hitch knots for the third time to ensure the security of my shelter, and make it bomb-proof, I began the hunt for firewood while the sun was still high in the sky. I figured I would make three different piles of firewood, near where my pit would be. One with small kindling, another with medium-sized sticks, and a final one with the biggest sticks I was able to snap in half over my knee, the main fuel of the fire.
I knew time was of the essence. Being alone, it was up to me to have an exothermic heat source without having to move around. To have that heat I would need wood. I came to realize over the course of the last few days that I would need a lot of it. Fires eat up wood like a ravenous beast devouring its prey. After a grueling few hours of stomping around in a few feet of snow in my black snowshoes, sweat beaded on my forehead. I had collected roughly three armfuls of sticks of all sizes. I threw down my last armful and it landed with a clatter. I began to snap each stick into an appropriate length to burn. My hip flexors felt like jelly, just standing there after breaking so much trail looking for good, slow-burning, dry wood.
Throughout this entire process, I heard a rhythmic tapping, similar to a metronome, somewhere behind my campsite. I had originally assumed that someone else had hiked further back than I had and found residence for the next three days behind me. However, I saw no footprints. The tapping was continuous and nonstop. Something wasn’t adding up. I took a second, to be in the moment. To be present. I listened. I shifted my glance around until something caught my eye. A little pileated woodpecker had been causing all that racket. I stared in astonishment at its vibrant red feathers, now so noticeable against the bland colors of snow and leafless trees. I chuckled aloud. It surprised me that such a small and insignificant animal could cause such curiosity and wonder in me.
Later that night when my fire was ablaze, I sat in my cold camp chair, feeling the cool breeze of the wind. I felt the fire’s heat, engulfing me with warmth and comfort. I stared into its bright body, flickering and dancing, its limbs reaching towards the sky as if searching for more, more to consume, more to embrace. It crackled with a mystery as if it knew a secret you didn’t. Its tongues beckoned me forward as if to give me a hug. The fire slowly conquered the snow, melting down towards the earth. The snow around it began to resemble tiny icicles from where the fire would melt it and it would refreeze.
The fire was a captivating and compelling thing. It drew me into a mesmerized state as if one was daydreaming. During my time at night, it was all I would stare at. It was my shining light in the darkness, my source of comfort when the coyotes commenced their routine howl, to advertise their location to one another. When the captivating tongues of fire would finally release me from my mesmerized state, I would glance around in the pitch-black woods and finally look up to see a sea of a million stars, only to be amplified by the rise of the moon.
The moon was the true light in the darkness. When risen, it was almost like the sun was up. Its beautiful bright light pierced through the darkness and reflected on the snow. The snow became a
beautiful glowing silver, where one wouldn’t need their headlamp. I sauntered along this glowing silver to my shelter where I slipped off my boots and changed for bed. Going into my cool sleeping bag felt refreshing after the warmth and comfort of the fire. I had previously raised up a flap of my shelter, allowing for me a night under the stars.
I spent time staring into the dark sky, illuminated by the moon and stars. I pondered what could be out there. How insignificant I was compared to the grand scheme of the universe. I had been religious all my life, but at that very moment, I felt connected with God more than I ever had before. I felt like I was a part of something bigger. As I drifted off to sleep I realized that the greatest discoveries were made during moments of stillness and solitude. I felt grateful for Out Back for having this opportunity to connect with myself, nature, and especially God. As I drifted off to sleep I gazed at the trees swaying in the wind above me, illuminated by the silver blanket of snow.
Untitled ABIGAIL BRENNAN ’26
Untitled TERRY WANG ’27
The Horrendous Hydra In The Untamed Sea
LAUREN BEBRIN ’27
“We sailed off sadly, happy to survive, but with our good friends lost.” (Book. X, page 263, lines 134-135) Dawn rose, opening her sleep-filled amber eyes over the cerulean sea, which glistened like jewels below the seagulls that squawked in the vast sky. There, the clouds crossed the horizon like a grazing herd of sheep above the restless waters. Our noble ship rocked rhythmically to the tempo of the waves. After we sailed for two days away from the island Polyphemus inhabited, we tried to rest. Those who remained a part of my tenacious crew slept fitfully, scarred by the horrors from the nights before. I lay awake in my chambers, unable to be blessed by the realm of sleep, the unrelenting rock of our lone ship caused me unease. Yet not due to the seasickness, as I was an experienced sailor. No, this unease came from the signs of a storm, one so expansive and formidable, that it made me fear for the completion of my journey and the lives of my men. The ocean is plagued by monsters hidden under the cover of crashing waves. The sea is their playground and we sailors are just the unsuspecting bugs waiting to be squashed into the endless lapis oblivion; That is the deep.
The pounding rain came without warning, playing with our ship like a child’s toy. My men, awake by then, were at work attempting to keep us from capsizing. Amongst the frenzy, a great serpent rose.
With a neck as long as Olympus, it sprouted from the quarreling waves, teeth sharp as Zeus’ lightning gleamed from its wide mouth. I met the serpent’s cold dark eyes and was filled with the understanding that this is a soldier of Poseidon.
The creature lunged for one of my men and I tried to shout. It was too late, the words didn’t leave my mouth in time to warn him of the striking serpent coming for his life. I watched my loyal soldier make his way down the throat of the creature, on his way into its abdomen. Suddenly, out of the creature’s neck shot a sword. Blood began gushing like rivers, flowing into the murky waters. Its decapitated head fell into the stormy depths and my man, soaked in scarlet and saliva, stood victorious. He jumped from the stump of the neck back onto the boat, where we shared a smile before continuing to work at navigating the storm. A screech from behind made our heads turn. Appearing once again like a guilty conscience, was the horrendous monster. Now with two heads.
I couldn’t believe the terrible miracle that happened before my eyes. My mind went blank and a slow panic started to climb up my chest. How could we stop this horrific beast? I suddenly became blessed with thought, an idea of how to kill the monster. Could this have been from wise Athena? No time to thank her now; I had to act. The sky began to clear up, slowing the unrelenting rain, almost as if it heard my silent
prayer. I searched for a dry piece of wood, hoping some had survived the storm below deck. I sprinted down the swaying ship into the men’s sleeping quarters and hacked at a piece of a bed frame with my sword. I looked around the halls and found a burning lamp that I stuck the wood into, to create a torch. Quickly, I returned to the deck to find two more of my men gone, a third faced the beast with a brave countenance, but a wavering faith. I shouted, “chop off its heads!” “It won’t do any good,” he replied. “Just do it!” With that, my man hazardously reached for his blade and lunged for the serpent’s throat. With two quick swipes of his sword, the monster’s heads were gone once more. I dove for the creature’s neck hoping to make it in time before it rejuvenated its upper extremities.
I cauterized the open wound with the torch, preventing the beast from regrowing its heads. Finally, with a thunderous splash, the serpent fell into the depths. My remaining men, exhausted from the storm and battle, cried with relief and gratitude to still be alive.
“We reached Aeaea, Home of the beautiful, dreadful goddess Circe, Who speaks in human languages—the sister Of Aeetes whose mind is set on ruin. (Book. X, page 263, lines 135-138)
An Early Spring Excursion
RUOHUI “SISSI” MA ’27
As Hunger desperately seeks food for the mind, With strands of thoughts ever intertwined, And even with the ideas so refined, The eyes can see, yet the heart is blind.
Step into the sunlight, Reach down for the earth, And notice the emerald jewels on her lap, Feel the warmth of her palm, And imbibe the crisp scent of her unadorned soil.
With the rustle of the leaves underfoot, Her Sylvan floor whispers an inkling to this enigma. Step into the sunlight, Clutch onto the branches, Watch the rainbow glistening in the morning dew unfold, And listen to the chatters of the flakes on the bough, Where two trunkless hemlock trees had fallen and grown old, Pondering what mystery it foretold.
Step into the sunlight, Glance upon the azure, Embellished by towering leaves of life, Accompanied by the symphony of paradise, What secrets yet lie beyond this forest sky, And away from this great woodland, Into the clouds and lofty hills up high.
Step into the sunlight, Plunge into the babbling brook, Feel the moist mud tingling, As if it were an Angel-sent awakening, A pure rebirth, a soul in mirth, and a novel beginning.
Satisfied as the mind rewind, The tyranny of reason far behind, Now the heart can see, and free to find, Unburdened wonders, treasures, one-of-its-kind.
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ELEANOR SOUSA ’27
Untitled STELLA REGAN ’26
Old reservoir
MADELINE JACOBSON ’25
Bluewater-clear raindrops fall
Though muddy dogs and splashing paddles; Little ripple under the kayak
Pointy mountain skyline,
Small clear flat lake opening:
Down from the river dam
up through time.
At kayak launching sites
Strongest kayakers kayak far
After all day paddling on the lake, A tired girl
With a cold body and wet hair runs into the mini-bus
Yawns!
Madison
DELANEY CASSIDY ’25
Green forest and rain spitting down
Up loose rocks and through leaves and needles
Pines and birches
Providing cover from the harsh rain
Chatter up the trail
Heard from far away
Up through the trees
At the alpine zone
Wind and rain grow fiercer
After hours of putting one foot in front of the other
A little hut
With warm lights and homemade bread
Now wrapped in a sweatshirt
Warm for awhile
Corn
CLARA PESCHEL ’26
Sometimes
i am nothing but a reflection of what i should be (never was)
Blending into the background
A wallflower growing into the rows
Line by line.
I stand in line and the hand comes
Shucking my skin like an ear of corn
Peeling off the unpalatable parts as they slip
Like silk
Through my fingers and settle like silt
On the riverbed. Hiding depth below and he will never find the rocks
until he steps and currents sweep the silt sideways revealing (too late) the rocks beneath.
Edges cut sharp those who aren’t aware
And the blood falls from his feet
And the blood drips from my hands as it
Beads on my cuticles. where i tear out my nails
Declawed by my own hand
I curl in on myself
And so a hand reaches out.
To help or to harm is never seen until they leave and i am Left behind
To gather the scraps some are new, some were lost. there is enough fabric to sew my dress. So i dress myself with a patchwork coat as i slip the unused pieces into the rag drawer as i slip through the cracks in the kinsugi house Lines of gold sealed up behind me As i leave.
And so the leaves fall and here i am
Once again in the forest Where i return to wipe the gold paint off my hands. It mixes with blood and stains the ground.
Eminence Time
TANNER SNYDER ’25
Colorless peak grey rocky glow
With tree limbs and parts astray; What shall we do? The rain has come to play And
I don’t think we are going to make it; Today
Was the hike rough and tough
We shall never know For the patience of a foe
Dips thy feet into the holy rain And out comes a frenzy of pain
Whaboosh!
A Sleepy Day
GEORGE MATVIAK
’25
Mountain Day
So gloomy indeed Rain, Wind
What might it do next? Lying in bed
The Wind Howling
The Shades Blowing
Just waiting for everyone to get back
I didn’t hike Or Swim Or raft Instead I slept
As I lay in bed
The thoughts swirling in my head
Of what would happen If I went out on a Hike
That’s the mystery I guess we will never guess
On Mountain Day at Holderness
NGUYEN CAO NGUYEN ’25
On Mountain Day at Holderness, a surprise did await, My friend flipped my kayak; I met a watery state. Just like that bug, with a splash, I too took the dive, In the cool mountain water, I felt so alive. With laughter and giggles, we made quite a show, In the great outdoors, where our spirits did flow. Holderness’s Mountain Day, full of joy and delight, Even my kayak slip, added to our day’s light.
Untitled LINNEA NYQUIST ’25
Untitled CHLOE REMONDI ’25
Untitled
BROOKE CIPPOLETTI ’26
She watched as the mean girls made fun of her outfit She wondered if middle school would ever end High school she thought, High school will be easier
She watched as the homework covered her desk She wondered if high school would ever end College she thought, College will be easier
She watched as her student loans went up She wondered if college would ever end Being an adult she thought, Being an adult will be easier
She sat in her studio apartment debating how the time passed She wondered where she went wrong Being a kid she thought, I should’ve known better
Untitled OWEN PETHIC ’24
Easy Hike
MIA DUDLEY ’25
Small mountain white clouds gleam
Though muddy trails and little rain drops spray; Little rivers rushing through Ragged rocky slopes, No sight of life at the top: Down from the wind that blows up through time.
At the bottom of the mountain after all day climbing through the peaks, A tired girl stretches her muscles with a wet body and soaked hair dives into downward dog, Namaste!
Summer 2022
LINDSAY SIDORE ’23
Sun burning pale shoulders in town
Outdoor wedding in pink floral dress
Flying, driving, up and down country
Endless cats, stray but never struggling
Air more crisp than a Macintosh
Green rolling hills and tall trees
Paddleboarding in lake around the islands
Waiting to jump back into water
Untitled SAWYER COOK ’24
Scarlet Vengeance
RUOHUI “SISSI” MA ’25
Part I: Encounter
The pungent combination of perfume and impertinence slowly crept into my senses. I glanced back, a slender and towering figure of fifty years strolled past my shoulders. Her skin glistened in the dazzling light of the chandelier, while her thick soot-black brows appeared implausibly artistic. And the pair of pitch-black shades had seemed to detach her eyes, the window to her soul, from the rest of the world. She presented herself in an elaborate gown of bright burgundy with pearls meticulously sewn on the surface. She was a woman full of mystery, cruelty and ruthlessness. She had to be the Madam Elinski.
Before I had the chance to glance back at her, my husband casually sauntered to where I was standing with a glass of champagne in his hand.
“Are you enjoying everything, Edith?” he grinned at me lightheartedly.
“Ah, Winston, you know I don’t like going to these fancy gatherings. It is not what I’m used to,” I attempted to force out a laugh while trying to hide my somber eyes. “And – a question if I may, do you happen to know who that lady in the dark crimson gown is?”
“Madam Elinski, you mean? Her husband is the legendary Christopher Van Doren, owns more
than ten estates and five concert halls over La Chapelle and Belleville. And Elinski, dear Edith, she’s an opera singer too,” he exclaims. “I thought people in the industry all knew her?”
Winston always liked to refer to opera singers as part of the industry, and it seemed like it was part of why he, a Harrington, married me. Anyhow, he confirmed my doubts: she was Madam Elinski, not just an opera singer, but the greatest of all time. I have admired her since the day I started pursuing my music career. She performed the most grueling songs with ease.
I always wanted to be like Elinski.
Then, I noticed her again. This time, a faint scarlet light was shining onto my pale gown. That tint of color reminded me of something. I didn’t remember what it was, but it just seemed painfully familiar. I scrutinized Madame Elinski again and found the source of the light. It was a scarlet ring on her finger. Stunningly and meticulously engraved with golden patterns and letters, the jewel’s brightness almost threatened whoever approached the wearer. Yet, to me, it seemed like a long-lost friend who had vanished from my dreams.
Not many in my husband’s world know of my past. Before I began my life in the glamorous yet superficial part of upper Paris City, I had always lived in “the other half” of this metropolitan. That side was depressingly foul and hideously disreputable. My father, allegedly, had passed long before I was able to remember things and my mother, as a woman, couldn’t work in any respectable occupations. Thus, she labored tirelessly with fabrics every single day, from dawn to dusk. Meanwhile, I explored the muddy and overcrowded streets singing to my heart’s desire. We were making ends meet, and I knew that I was more than lucky to have her. I never complained because I knew Mother wasn’t suffering through all this drudgery for herself.
She did it all for me. She toiled so that I could be better than her. She wanted me to rise above the filthy slums of Bel-air, Paris.
I continued to meander through the foggy garden of my perplexed mind. Where have you seen this ring on her delicate finger? Why do I feel so drawn towards it?
Finally, I started to remember that night. My memory took me back to the seventies —— that frigid and forbidding December evening when Mother was killed.
It was snowing heavily. Our neighborhood was deeply sedated by the tremendous whiteness. We couldn’t recognize anything on our way home. In the midst of the intense torrents of wind, flakes of snow were endlessly flurrying down from the bellowing, merciless sky. Mother held my hand tightly, and we scurried as fast as we could. Suddenly, I perceived a blinding sharp wave
of light coming directly toward us. I hastily let go of Mother’s hand. Then, my ears were flooded by a deafening roar from what seemed to be a passing carriage.
“Mother——”
She glanced back.
Examining her blood-shot eyes, I could almost sense her desperate and gasping soul. My heart plummeted into a pitch-black, gaping abyss. As her body was shattered by the carriage, she laid still on the ground and those delicate eyes went vacant.
I was too late.
The familiar smell of blood and wretchedness flooded through my sensory system. I didn’t cry, I screamed. My voice drowned in the agonizing gallop of the carriage. From then on, I could only remember a blur of crimson light coming from the piece of intricate jewelry and the bonechilling stare of its owner...
Then, my vision started to dissolve slowly. The painstakingly true reality appeared and the daydream faded. My head started to throb, as if a helicopter was continuously buzzing and humming. Finally, the view seemed clearer, and I could comprehend where I was.
Still staring into thin air and sensing the repulsive odor of blood, I felt a soft pat on my shoulder. I looked up from my seat and realized it was Winston asking me if we could leave. I glanced at his watch; it was half-past eleven. We couldn’t possibly go now; I had to see Madam Elinski once more.
I strolled to where Madam Elinski was talking. As I slowly tiptoed behind her back, my hands started to feel clammy.
“Funny thing, see, that night I was on the carriage ——”
Suddenly, my whole body froze. My feet were permanently glued onto the floor. All of my features were hardened into a gray and lifeless sculpture.
“——I wanted her gone, so I did the deed. I was afraid she would become that perfect singer I never was. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone better than me. You know, her voice was angelic and her face, just so charming. Wanted both of them gone forever ——”
She’s talking about Mother, or is she? Mother never knew how to sing. Then, I realized it was all about me. I desperately needed her face to confess. Analyzing every movement of her hands and every flicker of her gestures, I glared at her intensely. Then, our eyes locked. Her bright emeraldgreen eyes were enthralling and vicious. While deeply admiring this feature, warmth began to tingle in my feet. Then, my body became slightly heated. After a few moments, it was scorching. The bizarre and unbearable hotness crept into every single one of my veins. I felt like I was in a blazing fire. Every part of me wanted to scream –shriek as thunderously as I could. Immense fury overwhelmed me.
Finally, everything —— every single thing came to me.
Elinski was in the carriage that night. The carriage that ran over my mother. She killed my mother and wanted to kill me.
She slaughtered all my hopes and dreams.
She murdered my identity.
At that very moment, the only thing I wanted to do was to rip her apart, cut open every inch of her stone-like heart and destroy every ounce of flesh that existed in her.
I wanted and wretchedly needed vengeance.
Part II: Scheme
Later that morning, I meticulously planned everything I needed to murder that repugnant soul. I don’t remember if I had even gone to sleep that day, only recalling that I used about fifty pages of my notebook. In fact, my strangely alert mind forced me to stay awake. I had no time to waste, not a single second to spare if my flawless plan was going to be put into action.
After approximately six grueling hours, I realized that Winston was beginning to wake up. As much as my complacency in our marriage prevailed, I could not let him know this. Even if he did, he wouldn’t understand. Men of his class would never be able to comprehend my feelings. And why would he even care? Thus, I made up my mind that these pieces of paper must never see the light of day.
I hastily arranged all my notes into a pile and hid them under the last drawer of my closet. Then, realizing that I was still in my gown, I undressed into a robe and reclined into bed. Relaxed, I waited for Winston to wake up.
Likely because I never had any rest that night, I gradually drifted off into my dreams. Though I do not recollect this dream very distinctively, yet quite curiously, it was of a story similar to my plot against Elinski.
I recalled witnessing blood and fluids gushing through one’s vitals like the surging waters of Niagara Falls. I heard the moaning sound of the victim. I remembered the bone-chilling coldness of the stare. And I remembered my pounding heart, beating faster each second, I walked closer to her body.
After carefully contemplating my plot and its vivid portrayal, I realized that I had to gather some
critical information in order to complete this task. I needed just two things: Elinski’s location and how to get in. Both of which I knew exactly where to get.
That noon, I was patiently waiting though my thoughts were rampant.
As our antique yet extravagant oak wood clock struck exactly three in the afternoon, I inspected every inch of our living area and found no signs of Winston or my more intimate maids. Relieving myself for just a moment, I quickly changed into a pair of murky, torn-out trousers, a large yet unfitting patched sweater, and a small and shabby little pair of shoes. Then, I was off to the other side of Paris —— the shantytown.
I was going to visit my long-time friend from childhood, Arthur, who was once a part of the Elinski household servants. After some type of incident, I gather, he was sacked and then returned to his childhood home. While I dissented his way of life, he also abhorred my privilege and upper-class genteel. Yet, he was my first and last resort.
The last time I heard of him was that he had opened a store just around the corner of where Mother and I used to reside. Though I never knew what trade he participated in, I still went there to try my luck.
After some few hours of dragging myself through the dark alleys, I arrived at the familiar world of sorrow and trouble. It was still exactly like what I remember from my childhood. Nothing had changed at all.
As the acrid smell of fumes gradually rose behind the dark and monotonous building, I looked down past my shoes, almost sensing the ill-smelling dye from the nearby canal. I then shifted my view upwards and noticed large arrays of black and gray windows. Though I never had anything against them in my upbringing, I started to pity them today. The dreadful windows were like eyes gazing directly upon me with tears the size of a green bean sliding down its delicate cheeks. In short, this place was a large garbage can of melancholy madness.
Attempting to avoid this appalling ambience, I hurriedly ran to my destination.
After endless rounds of interrogating Arthur, I had obtained everything I needed to know. In all honesty, I was very fond of this experience. It felt good to be the one in power, instead of the inferior. Anyhow, the plan was immaculate . I gathered all the information required for my entry into Elinski’s property, and I wasn’t going to wait. This had to happen tonight.
Part III: Revenge
Seconds before I entered Elinski’s large manor, I finally had some hints of guilt and shame. How could I have been so ill-hearted? Have I completely lost control of my own mind? Would ending one’s life be the best option? Was I even able to commit this cruel crime and face the repercussions?
Oh – I started to sense sounds from heaven, from angels offering me counsel to cease my action. Yet, I also heard the roaring demands of devils from Hell. The two sounds mingled in my mind and my ears started to ring uncontrollably. Agony overcame my whole body, yet I knew I needed to destroy both the demons and cherubs. I needed this to work, and I’d make this work.
Depending on my last few drops of energy, I dragged my heavy steps into the backside of their courtyard. And after a few days with barely any respite, drowsiness came to me after all. But no, I screamed at my internal soul to wake my lethargic body. Suddenly, my ears perceived a blaring sound.
The clock had struck midnight. Inhaling the fresh, crisp wind, I was ready.
Step by step, I then steadily opened the retractable window. The tranquility of the night had seemed to amplify every single wince, so I attempted to suppress every flicker of motion I could have produced. And now I gradually slid both of my hands in, then my head and at last my whole body.
I stood there quietly for a long time. I couldn’t believe I was so close to her. I couldn’t believe I was standing in her room.
After scrutinizing her whole body, I noticed a single streak of moonlight falling on her cheeks.
Oh! How soft and rosy it is – just like Mother’s. Then, while tiptoeing to her bed, I accidentally moved her desk. A large screech faded into the thick darkness. Suddenly, her seemingly lifeless body sat straight up in her bed, and shrieked, “Who is it?”
My body froze again.
Finally, I muttered bitterly, “I’m here to kill.”
Then she let out an abrupt and mocking laugh. “Kill me? Ah, dear Edith, have you ever killed anyone?” Her giggle was almost hysteric.
My heart flinched.
“How- how do you know my name? But no, unlike you, I’ve never killed anyone. After everything you’ve done to my mother, you shall suffer!”
“Your mother? Ha-ha-ha.”
Then, I noticed the scarlet ring on her desk. I was more determined than ever. Dashing towards her large queen-sized bed, I violently forced her to the balcony.
“Stop, Edith”, she mumbled calmly.
“Why should I? You ruined my whole life, now it’s time for me to end yours.”
“Because I am your mother.”
I stood there silently, in defiance and fury. Then I let her free. She slowly strolled to her desk and opened the third left drawer. Holding a mysterious note from the drawer, she handed it to me. Though I could not read it well in the thick darkness, I realized it was my birth certificate.
I couldn’t understand and I didn’t want to understand.
“I abandoned you when you were two years old. Wanted you dead since I was always afraid you
would become a better singer than me. And even if you weren’t my child, how could you explain the singing? Did your so-called mother have that kind of voice?”
I finally understood, she was my mother – my birth mother. Yet, she would never in any way or form be my mother, only a monster who killed my true mother.
My ears started ringing again. This time sounds were more penetrating. I didn’t know what to do.
Elinski seemed to perceive the turmoil on my face, “I’ve changed Edith, I’ve changed…”
Then, she gently embraced me. I knew I couldn’t believe her, but at that moment, the only thing I yearned for was love and belonging. I started bawling uncontrollably in her chest. Suddenly, she pushed me toward the balcony. Afterall, her sentiments were a hoax for killing me. Though I tried to resist, I had no more vitality. And now I could only stare into her merciless eyes. With a smooth and graceful woosh, she pushed me off the balcony.
I embraced the balmy autumn wind.
Then, I could only sense a tint of scarlet dissolving into a vast, pitch-black ocean.
