Windhover 2016

WINDHOVER vol 50

CONTENTS

LITERATURE

4

7

Andrew Kearns

54

Joseph Silvers

8

Tyler Collins

64

Tyler Collins

16

Tyler Collins

67

Kaitlin Fritz

20

Vaidehi Patil

70

Samuel Fox

22

Vaidehi Patil

77

Joseph Silvers

26

Darren Lipman

79

Emilie Mathura

29

Annalise Boese

80

Nicholas Casale

38

Tyler Collins

82

Mary Anna Rice

44

Baylis Wallenborn

88

Nathan Forbes

46

Ethan Cole Evans

95

Arlan Wallace

50

Clarissa Rainear

53

Jack Kittrell

VISUAL ART

6

William Lenhardt

52

Katelynn McCorquodale

9

Hal Meeks

55

Jacob Lineberry

10

Jennifer Vaughn

56

Katelyn Auger

11

Téa Blumer

58

Cameren Dolecheck

13

Khushbu Gosai

60

Lydia Kuekes

19

Monica Galletto

61

Emily Parker

20

Julia Conlon

62

Tyler Hayes

24

Austin Caskie

65

Corey Myrick

28

Katelyn Auger

66

Monica Galletto

30

Téa Blumer

68

Jennifer Vaughn

31

Nick Fair

73

Tyler Hayes

32

Khushbu Gosai

74

Katelyn Auger

34

Cameren Dolecheck

76

Jamal Bell

37

Emily Parker

78

Brantley Atkinson

40

Julia Conlon

81

Maria Martinez

42

Scott Reinhard

87

Sadie Red Wing

43

Hal Meeks

89

Nick Fair

45

Megan Bonner

90

Jacob Lineberry

47

Austin Caskie

93

Katelynn McCorquodale

48

Eduardo Talavera

94

Corey Myrick

51

Julia Conlon

96

Maria Martinez

5

CONTENTS

LITERATURE

4

7

Andrew Kearns

54

Joseph Silvers

8

Tyler Collins

64

Tyler Collins

16

Tyler Collins

67

Kaitlin Fritz

20

Vaidehi Patil

70

Samuel Fox

22

Vaidehi Patil

77

Joseph Silvers

26

Darren Lipman

79

Emilie Mathura

29

Annalise Boese

80

Nicholas Casale

38

Tyler Collins

82

Mary Anna Rice

44

Baylis Wallenborn

88

Nathan Forbes

46

Ethan Cole Evans

95

Arlan Wallace

50

Clarissa Rainear

53

Jack Kittrell

VISUAL ART

6

William Lenhardt

52

Katelynn McCorquodale

9

Hal Meeks

55

Jacob Lineberry

10

Jennifer Vaughn

56

Katelyn Auger

11

Téa Blumer

58

Cameren Dolecheck

13

Khushbu Gosai

60

Lydia Kuekes

19

Monica Galletto

61

Emily Parker

20

Julia Conlon

62

Tyler Hayes

24

Austin Caskie

65

Corey Myrick

28

Katelyn Auger

66

Monica Galletto

30

Téa Blumer

68

Jennifer Vaughn

31

Nick Fair

73

Tyler Hayes

32

Khushbu Gosai

74

Katelyn Auger

34

Cameren Dolecheck

76

Jamal Bell

37

Emily Parker

78

Brantley Atkinson

40

Julia Conlon

81

Maria Martinez

42

Scott Reinhard

87

Sadie Red Wing

43

Hal Meeks

89

Nick Fair

45

Megan Bonner

90

Jacob Lineberry

47

Austin Caskie

93

Katelynn McCorquodale

48

Eduardo Talavera

94

Corey Myrick

51

Julia Conlon

96

Maria Martinez

5

WINDHOVER

THE FORGOTTEN

As street-lights glow a false daylight, arc-sodium beneath a star-shrouded sky, all the ghouls come out; lost boys dancing to the sound of a pan-flute.

hungry eyes and hungry hearts– parasites in the night.

VOLUME 50

Wretches, wights, and waifs,

But do not look away.

Are they not your children as well?

Andrew Kearns

William Lenhardt

7

WINDHOVER

THE FORGOTTEN

As street-lights glow a false daylight, arc-sodium beneath a star-shrouded sky, all the ghouls come out; lost boys dancing to the sound of a pan-flute.

hungry eyes and hungry hearts– parasites in the night.

VOLUME 50

Wretches, wights, and waifs,

But do not look away.

Are they not your children as well?

Andrew Kearns

William Lenhardt

7

WINDHOVER

WOLF

Sing softly, my red robin,

VOLUME 50

skip along the concrete path.

Let your melody echo, through the forest of glass, cement, and steel.

Lead me, little bird, with your song and sweet perfume - seasoned flesh, beneath red feathers, awaits my silver claw.

Tyler Collins

Hal Meeks

8

9

WINDHOVER

WOLF

Sing softly, my red robin,

VOLUME 50

skip along the concrete path.

Let your melody echo, through the forest of glass, cement, and steel.

Lead me, little bird, with your song and sweet perfume - seasoned flesh, beneath red feathers, awaits my silver claw.

Tyler Collins

Hal Meeks

8

9

VOLUME 50

WINDHOVER

Jennifer Vaughn

VOLUME 50

WINDHOVER

Jennifer Vaughn

VOLUME 50

Khushbu Gosai

12

VOLUME 50

Khushbu Gosai

12

Julia Conlon

Julia Conlon

EPISODE

Knock, Knock Once again it’s at the door insisting to enter.

A creature clothed in blue - half cotton, half polyester pestilent messenger of my recurring nightmare.

Knock, Knock Its silhouette towers beyond the silver window.

Ribs like gnarled claws wrap my narrow torso,

VOLUME 50

cradling the hollow rhythm which keeps this husk alive.

Knock, Knock Temptation is its gaze, branched with red rivers, my eyes met with Death’s promise.

It calls to me in silence.

Knock, Knock Its face twists against the glass, cracked skin across the pane, expression masked, sunken eyes smile mockingly.

Its gaze, needle sharp, brings disparity.

Click, Click The door creaks open, so it begins.

Again, I let him in.

I always let him in.

Tyler Collins

16

EPISODE

Knock, Knock Once again it’s at the door insisting to enter.

A creature clothed in blue - half cotton, half polyester pestilent messenger of my recurring nightmare.

Knock, Knock Its silhouette towers beyond the silver window.

Ribs like gnarled claws wrap my narrow torso,

VOLUME 50

cradling the hollow rhythm which keeps this husk alive.

Knock, Knock Temptation is its gaze, branched with red rivers, my eyes met with Death’s promise.

It calls to me in silence.

Knock, Knock Its face twists against the glass, cracked skin across the pane, expression masked, sunken eyes smile mockingly.

Its gaze, needle sharp, brings disparity.

Click, Click The door creaks open, so it begins.

Again, I let him in.

I always let him in.

Tyler Collins

16

VOLUME 50

Monica Galletto

19

VOLUME 50

Monica Galletto

19

WINDHOVER

THE TRENDSPOTTER In a world where few had money and most had fame, the popular tabloid’s photographer gathered his tatters and set forth into the brewing rainstorm. He chose a cobbled street within a fortress-converted-to-bazaar, known for the who’s who that walked it.

Stormy light created drama in the shifting shad-

VOLUME 50

ows. Statuesque women shopped wearing absurd heels, bizarre ensembles and dabs on the skin that gave them unreal chamfers. Dark clouds coloured everything in bleakness. But not the photographer.

He expected luck. If all went well, tomorrow would be another payday after seven months of nothing. He winked at the umbrella seller stationed in the corner diagonally opposite. The seller winked back.

When the ex-fashionista walked down the street struggling with her new umbrella, the photographer hid behind a sandstone pillar, poised, hoping the lightning would smother the camera’s flash.

The next day under a picture of a woman with blown hair framed by an upturned mauve umbrella, the caption read: Snappy New Headdress. There were many who bought it.

Téa Blumer Vaidehi Patil

20

21

WINDHOVER

THE TRENDSPOTTER In a world where few had money and most had fame, the popular tabloid’s photographer gathered his tatters and set forth into the brewing rainstorm. He chose a cobbled street within a fortress-converted-to-bazaar, known for the who’s who that walked it.

Stormy light created drama in the shifting shad-

VOLUME 50

ows. Statuesque women shopped wearing absurd heels, bizarre ensembles and dabs on the skin that gave them unreal chamfers. Dark clouds coloured everything in bleakness. But not the photographer.

He expected luck. If all went well, tomorrow would be another payday after seven months of nothing. He winked at the umbrella seller stationed in the corner diagonally opposite. The seller winked back.

When the ex-fashionista walked down the street struggling with her new umbrella, the photographer hid behind a sandstone pillar, poised, hoping the lightning would smother the camera’s flash.

The next day under a picture of a woman with blown hair framed by an upturned mauve umbrella, the caption read: Snappy New Headdress. There were many who bought it.

Téa Blumer Vaidehi Patil

20

21

MINUS TWENTY IN SIACHEN

It’s minus twenty in Siachen. Plus two here in Delhi. I’m freezing. But Dad, crouching in the Sia La pass in the Himalayas with twenty kilograms on him, isn’t. There’s possibly no chance to.

Physics. Fission and fusion ignite my I don’t want to settle under the duvet

imagination. Geography. I try to find Dad,

and sleep. The cold is killing, and sleep

satellite-like, scanning for a speck in the

tells me—Kishor, you need rest before the

vast Karakorams amidst blurry contour

papers tomorrow.

lines. Math. Problem 22: How far is the from a 5400 meter height? The satchel’s

whether Dad will be proud of me. So will

open like Pandora’s box.

his fate in Siachen.

VOLUME 50

target if a bullet is fired at 57.2 degrees My fate in the final exam will decide

Then there’s the English reader. Chapter I don’t reach for the blanket. Won’t gather

one, an extract from Gandhi’s My

a silk Pashmina around my numb toes.

Experiments with Truth. It begins with a

He battles under sub-zero, alert for a

quote on hope. Sharp wind stings through

sound from the other side of the icy wall.

the cracked window.

Alert, when my body craves sleep. But I won’t succumb.

I choose to remain cold and keep company from four hundred miles away.

Mum insists, so I tell her I’m studying— even when I’m well-prepared—and pick up the history textbook. It’s full of conflicts. My head dizzies. Breath doesn’t come easily. Siachen has scarce oxygen, I remember and feel hesitant to gulp more air than I need.

Vaidehi Pat il

23

MINUS TWENTY IN SIACHEN

It’s minus twenty in Siachen. Plus two here in Delhi. I’m freezing. But Dad, crouching in the Sia La pass in the Himalayas with twenty kilograms on him, isn’t. There’s possibly no chance to.

Physics. Fission and fusion ignite my I don’t want to settle under the duvet

imagination. Geography. I try to find Dad,

and sleep. The cold is killing, and sleep

satellite-like, scanning for a speck in the

tells me—Kishor, you need rest before the

vast Karakorams amidst blurry contour

papers tomorrow.

lines. Math. Problem 22: How far is the from a 5400 meter height? The satchel’s

whether Dad will be proud of me. So will

open like Pandora’s box.

his fate in Siachen.

VOLUME 50

target if a bullet is fired at 57.2 degrees My fate in the final exam will decide

Then there’s the English reader. Chapter I don’t reach for the blanket. Won’t gather

one, an extract from Gandhi’s My

a silk Pashmina around my numb toes.

Experiments with Truth. It begins with a

He battles under sub-zero, alert for a

quote on hope. Sharp wind stings through

sound from the other side of the icy wall.

the cracked window.

Alert, when my body craves sleep. But I won’t succumb.

I choose to remain cold and keep company from four hundred miles away.

Mum insists, so I tell her I’m studying— even when I’m well-prepared—and pick up the history textbook. It’s full of conflicts. My head dizzies. Breath doesn’t come easily. Siachen has scarce oxygen, I remember and feel hesitant to gulp more air than I need.

Vaidehi Pat il

23

VOLUME 50

WINDHOVER

Austin Caskie

24

25

VOLUME 50

WINDHOVER

Austin Caskie

24

25

WINDHOVER

VOLUME 50

REVISIONISM You presented as a man

I still tell that story

when I met you three years ago

every time drinking tales come up

before your physique

but now I’m not so sure

became feminine

what I’m supposed to do.

and you took a new name.

Should I superimpose your body

Tonight I remembered

upon this memory,

that time three years ago

change your name in retrospect,

when you and me and Sarah

or do I refer to you as you were:

were the new students

an artifact of an era passed,

counting which of us

an image discordant

collected the most free shirts

with the knowledge I now possess

which of us had the most free slices of pizza

so if I use your name as it is now

when the three of us

with your different pronouns,

got drunk in my apartment

is this revisionist or is it

and Sarah passed out in the bathroom

stripping aside the façade

and you passed out on the couch

to see reality as it was meant to be?

and Taylor got home and freaked out.

Darren Lipman

26

27

WINDHOVER

VOLUME 50

REVISIONISM You presented as a man

I still tell that story

when I met you three years ago

every time drinking tales come up

before your physique

but now I’m not so sure

became feminine

what I’m supposed to do.

and you took a new name.

Should I superimpose your body

Tonight I remembered

upon this memory,

that time three years ago

change your name in retrospect,

when you and me and Sarah

or do I refer to you as you were:

were the new students

an artifact of an era passed,

counting which of us

an image discordant

collected the most free shirts

with the knowledge I now possess

which of us had the most free slices of pizza

so if I use your name as it is now

when the three of us

with your different pronouns,

got drunk in my apartment

is this revisionist or is it

and Sarah passed out in the bathroom

stripping aside the façade

and you passed out on the couch

to see reality as it was meant to be?

and Taylor got home and freaked out.

Darren Lipman

26

27

WINDHOVER

GHOSTS you sit there in your car, windows down even though it’s much too cold. let the air seep down into your bones. the chill is uncomfortable, but at least VOLUME 50

discomfort is a feeling. at least you’re feeling something. drive home alone, eat alone, sleep alone. the numbness is crippling. your bed is still made up on one side your white walls are caving in decorated with empty picture frames like skeletons your bedroom is a graveyard haunted with words that should never have been said

Katelyn Auger

28

Annalise Boese

29

WINDHOVER

GHOSTS you sit there in your car, windows down even though it’s much too cold. let the air seep down into your bones. the chill is uncomfortable, but at least VOLUME 50

discomfort is a feeling. at least you’re feeling something. drive home alone, eat alone, sleep alone. the numbness is crippling. your bed is still made up on one side your white walls are caving in decorated with empty picture frames like skeletons your bedroom is a graveyard haunted with words that should never have been said

Katelyn Auger

28

Annalise Boese

29

VOLUME 50

WINDHOVER

Téa Blumer

Nick Fair

30

31

VOLUME 50

WINDHOVER

Téa Blumer

Nick Fair

30

31

VOLUME 50

WINDHOVER

Khushbu Gosai

32

33

VOLUME 50

WINDHOVER

Khushbu Gosai

32

33

VOLUME 50

Ca meren D olecheck

34

VOLUME 50

Ca meren D olecheck

34

Em ily Parker

37

Em ily Parker

37

WINDHOVER

CONSCIENCE NOT

VOLUME 50

BURDENED

Unknown to me the blood of man, crimson stains for calloused hands.

Cracking bone and peeling flesh, inhale their last, spoiling breath.

Conscience burdened? Perhaps not.

Tyler Collins

38

39

WINDHOVER

CONSCIENCE NOT

VOLUME 50

BURDENED

Unknown to me the blood of man, crimson stains for calloused hands.

Cracking bone and peeling flesh, inhale their last, spoiling breath.

Conscience burdened? Perhaps not.

Tyler Collins

38

39

VOLUME 50

Julia Conlon

40

VOLUME 50

Julia Conlon

40

VOLUME 50

WINDHOVER

Scott Reinhard

Hal Meeks

42

43

VOLUME 50

WINDHOVER

Scott Reinhard

Hal Meeks

42

43

WINDHOVER

KUDZU

When I was little I wanted to hide in that plant, the cascading shades of lime and golden greens, the flowing waves of vines rolling down steep hills, overtaking massive rocks and trees in their paths, creating caves and crevices where I could hide.

VOLUME 50

I always stared into the emerald hills that overflowed with it to see if anyone had the same idea as me, to see if anyone was taking refuge in that sea of chartreuse and whether they had become part of the plant, a mangle of vines growing over them as if they were a stone.

My dad says kudzu isn’t supposed to be here, that it grows too fast and takes over everything around it.

But I thought it was beautiful, felt connected to it— I too wanted to overflow and reach as far out as my limbs would allow me.

Baylis Wallenborn

Megan Bonner

44

45

WINDHOVER

KUDZU

When I was little I wanted to hide in that plant, the cascading shades of lime and golden greens, the flowing waves of vines rolling down steep hills, overtaking massive rocks and trees in their paths, creating caves and crevices where I could hide.

VOLUME 50

I always stared into the emerald hills that overflowed with it to see if anyone had the same idea as me, to see if anyone was taking refuge in that sea of chartreuse and whether they had become part of the plant, a mangle of vines growing over them as if they were a stone.

My dad says kudzu isn’t supposed to be here, that it grows too fast and takes over everything around it.

But I thought it was beautiful, felt connected to it— I too wanted to overflow and reach as far out as my limbs would allow me.

Baylis Wallenborn

Megan Bonner

44

45

WINDHOVER

NOT GOING BACK

Seeming condemnation surrounds me But I carry on Misplaced disappointment in themselves But I never displaced my diligence Academically and passionately Working at an irrationally harsh rate

VOLUME 50

It’s not hard Yet they all want to escape I stay because they depend on me Demographically Unappreciatively helping them While helping myself to self-deprecation Now you want to escape But you can’t erase The duality of where the cream meets the Oreo Is the crossroads at which I write While They write me off.

Ethan Cole Evans

46

Austin Caskie

47

WINDHOVER

NOT GOING BACK

Seeming condemnation surrounds me But I carry on Misplaced disappointment in themselves But I never displaced my diligence Academically and passionately Working at an irrationally harsh rate

VOLUME 50

It’s not hard Yet they all want to escape I stay because they depend on me Demographically Unappreciatively helping them While helping myself to self-deprecation Now you want to escape But you can’t erase The duality of where the cream meets the Oreo Is the crossroads at which I write While They write me off.

Ethan Cole Evans

46

Austin Caskie

47

WINDHOVER

VOLUME 50

Eduardo Talavera

48

49

WINDHOVER

VOLUME 50

Eduardo Talavera

48

49

WINDHOVER

LIGHT EXPOSURE You wore a blue dress.

I remember because it was raining, and the grey of the clouds blended into the grey of the church behind us, so that you stood out against them like a dulled sapphire waiting for sunlight.

I held the umbrella over our heads while you took pictures. Capturing mahogany doors, their carefully-carved etchings, smiling cherubs that adorned the entryway, the steeple that swept above our heads and

VOLUME 50

brushed the charcoal sky.

It occurred to me that you took pictures of churches and bridges and alleyways but never of you, never of me, never of us.

A photograph is made when a chemical reaction records the impression of light onto silver atoms. You must have thought that the impression of our light wasn’t bright enough to make a decent image.

Julia Conlon

But eventually I stopped trying to force our interaction, and you didn’t seem to care if it had ever been recorded in the first place.

At the end of our botched experiment, all we had were the negatives.

Clarissa Rainear

50

51

WINDHOVER

LIGHT EXPOSURE You wore a blue dress.

I remember because it was raining, and the grey of the clouds blended into the grey of the church behind us, so that you stood out against them like a dulled sapphire waiting for sunlight.

I held the umbrella over our heads while you took pictures. Capturing mahogany doors, their carefully-carved etchings, smiling cherubs that adorned the entryway, the steeple that swept above our heads and

VOLUME 50

brushed the charcoal sky.

It occurred to me that you took pictures of churches and bridges and alleyways but never of you, never of me, never of us.

A photograph is made when a chemical reaction records the impression of light onto silver atoms. You must have thought that the impression of our light wasn’t bright enough to make a decent image.

Julia Conlon

But eventually I stopped trying to force our interaction, and you didn’t seem to care if it had ever been recorded in the first place.

At the end of our botched experiment, all we had were the negatives.

Clarissa Rainear

50

51

WINDHOVER

VOLUME 50

CEDAR AND METAL One for the living

with plastic teeth from their

trees encircling the sacred space;

wall perches. They witness

one for the efficient

teen’s sermons on storm fronts.

engineering in the center. Pieced

Boas and rabbits

together in four cardinal

bask beneath heat bulbs in

corners, containing

cages ringing the perimeter.

memory and opportunity.

Bookshelves, laden

A green roof folded as

with age, bent in a thin

praying hands. Square

but knowing grin.

columns contrast the round trunks

Posters hang like categorical portraits

they were taken from.

from the rough-cut walls.

Wide overhanging canopies

Dirty concrete develops

surround the nature building,

the dusty smell that lingers throughout.

a giant mushroom in the forest.

Deference to those who enter in yearning.

Picnic benches miss their pupils. Through the double doors, vaulted ceiling and a dusk-gray podium preach to the plastic table pews.

Jack Kit t rell Taxidermied animals, like the stations of the cross, smile

Katelynn McCorquodale

53

WINDHOVER

VOLUME 50

CEDAR AND METAL One for the living

with plastic teeth from their

trees encircling the sacred space;

wall perches. They witness

one for the efficient

teen’s sermons on storm fronts.

engineering in the center. Pieced

Boas and rabbits

together in four cardinal

bask beneath heat bulbs in

corners, containing

cages ringing the perimeter.

memory and opportunity.

Bookshelves, laden

A green roof folded as

with age, bent in a thin

praying hands. Square

but knowing grin.

columns contrast the round trunks

Posters hang like categorical portraits

they were taken from.

from the rough-cut walls.

Wide overhanging canopies

Dirty concrete develops

surround the nature building,

the dusty smell that lingers throughout.

a giant mushroom in the forest.

Deference to those who enter in yearning.

Picnic benches miss their pupils. Through the double doors, vaulted ceiling and a dusk-gray podium preach to the plastic table pews.

Jack Kit t rell Taxidermied animals, like the stations of the cross, smile

Katelynn McCorquodale

53

WINDHOVER

TWISTING

Clouds fall on the city at night and soon there is no city.

And the people feel alone together.

VOLUME 50

Beauty in flowers twisting through what’s left

of the sidewalk. I knew the bricks felt uneven.

Joseph Silvers

Jacob Lineberry

54

55

WINDHOVER

TWISTING

Clouds fall on the city at night and soon there is no city.

And the people feel alone together.

VOLUME 50

Beauty in flowers twisting through what’s left

of the sidewalk. I knew the bricks felt uneven.

Joseph Silvers

Jacob Lineberry

54

55

WINDHOVER

IT’S BEEN FOUR YEARS I wonder if I would recognize you if your skeletal arms were thicker, if you cut your hair, grew taller. The idea of you aging makes me want to vomit.

I think about it anyway.

The bruises on my thighs are gone but the imprints of your frigid grip are bone-deep. Your skin has long been washed out from underneath my nails.

Still, the memory of scratching frantically at your shoulders will forever be embedded

I am different. You are frozen.

VOLUME 50

in my fingertips.

You do not have the right to change, to become anything other than what you

Katelyn Auger

were when you pushed me against the brick wall and shoved your tongue down my throat. I am older, and you are not allowed to be.

Clarissa Rainear

56

57

WINDHOVER

IT’S BEEN FOUR YEARS I wonder if I would recognize you if your skeletal arms were thicker, if you cut your hair, grew taller. The idea of you aging makes me want to vomit.

I think about it anyway.

The bruises on my thighs are gone but the imprints of your frigid grip are bone-deep. Your skin has long been washed out from underneath my nails.

Still, the memory of scratching frantically at your shoulders will forever be embedded

I am different. You are frozen.

VOLUME 50

in my fingertips.

You do not have the right to change, to become anything other than what you

Katelyn Auger

were when you pushed me against the brick wall and shoved your tongue down my throat. I am older, and you are not allowed to be.

Clarissa Rainear

56

57

WINDHOVER

VOLUME 50

Cameren Dolecheck

58

59

WINDHOVER

VOLUME 50

Cameren Dolecheck

58

59

VOLUME 50

WINDHOVER

Lydia Kuekes

60

Emily Parker

61

VOLUME 50

WINDHOVER

Lydia Kuekes

60

Emily Parker

61

WINDHOVER

Tyler Hayes

62

WINDHOVER

Tyler Hayes

62

WINDHOVER

AFTER LOVE Dew glitters on red fiberglass as she pulls out of the driveway.

VOLUME 50

Her lips, crimson as her car, purse to blow one last kiss.

I wince as I reach up to catch it, back cracking, a reminder of the night prior.

Tyler Collins

Corey Myrick

64

65

WINDHOVER

AFTER LOVE Dew glitters on red fiberglass as she pulls out of the driveway.

VOLUME 50

Her lips, crimson as her car, purse to blow one last kiss.

I wince as I reach up to catch it, back cracking, a reminder of the night prior.

Tyler Collins

Corey Myrick

64

65

WINDHOVER

ICE-CREAM, PAST LOVES, AND OTHER THINGS THAT DON’T EXPIRE

No matter how hard one compartmentalizes the brain, the thoughts of the past still seep through.

Those synapses that connect—back and forth and back again—always remember the sparks VOLUME 50

that put them in motion. Those thoughts linger and have no sell-by dates. Even when you change destination, surroundings, people… the past does not care.

It can be during the marathon of bridal shows, an airplane ride, or even a trip down an aisle in the grocery store when the brain remembers the feeling of loss. Or sadness. Or the feeling of the “once was.”

It was the joke that was always laughed at,

Monica Galletto

a smile that juxtaposed the circumstance, or a callused hand that intertwined soft fingertips. Those are the moments that unsurface like the forgotten carton of icecream in the back of the freezer.

Kaitlin Fritz

66

67

WINDHOVER

ICE-CREAM, PAST LOVES, AND OTHER THINGS THAT DON’T EXPIRE

No matter how hard one compartmentalizes the brain, the thoughts of the past still seep through.

Those synapses that connect—back and forth and back again—always remember the sparks VOLUME 50

that put them in motion. Those thoughts linger and have no sell-by dates. Even when you change destination, surroundings, people… the past does not care.

It can be during the marathon of bridal shows, an airplane ride, or even a trip down an aisle in the grocery store when the brain remembers the feeling of loss. Or sadness. Or the feeling of the “once was.”

It was the joke that was always laughed at,

Monica Galletto

a smile that juxtaposed the circumstance, or a callused hand that intertwined soft fingertips. Those are the moments that unsurface like the forgotten carton of icecream in the back of the freezer.

Kaitlin Fritz

66

67

VOLUME 50

WINDHOVER

Jennifer Vaughn

68

69

VOLUME 50

WINDHOVER

Jennifer Vaughn

68

69

WINDHOVER

REOCCURRING DREAM OF DROWNING

REOCCURRING

VOLUME 50

DREAM OF FLIGHT

Pick the lily pads out of your pockets. They are heavy

Not quite soar,

with the sweet rot of marsh. You can

you are borne like a seed, spore

bind brick to ankle, a cinder block anchor.

arcing up and flung over the shoulder,

Let it pull you down into the swish of current,

broad back of the breeze.

become sunken schooner swift in a dark descent.

Listen to soft aquatic static, oncoming shoals of fish

You choose not what point on your compass

flitting like needles on a murky record;

you travel to, only that you will arrive.

soundtrack of heart pulsing in ears like sonar.

Drifter; flesh wrought by wind; spread-

Let your heart be buoyant. Let it be bright —

eagled and spring-heeled: you are not

the flick-flash of scales, ripples radiating. Find

caped, are not savior, are not crowned.

through the deep a dream that is not at all dry or hard.

Relinquish what little air you keep tucked

You are feather-heavy, doomed

in each bronchiole, let it be what it was meant for:

to wake in sweat and draft, are thorn

bubbles buoying up through thick atmosphere,

in the palm of a sanguine-hued sky.

popping the surface. Let this be

You extend your arms to stretch, reaching

a struggle against ancient chaos. Mouth wide open:

to cuff a cloud in the cup of your hands.

allow the passage of water and gurgle the fallen sky.

Samuel J. Fox

70

WINDHOVER

REOCCURRING DREAM OF DROWNING

REOCCURRING

VOLUME 50

DREAM OF FLIGHT

Pick the lily pads out of your pockets. They are heavy

Not quite soar,

with the sweet rot of marsh. You can

you are borne like a seed, spore

bind brick to ankle, a cinder block anchor.

arcing up and flung over the shoulder,

Let it pull you down into the swish of current,

broad back of the breeze.

become sunken schooner swift in a dark descent.

Listen to soft aquatic static, oncoming shoals of fish

You choose not what point on your compass

flitting like needles on a murky record;

you travel to, only that you will arrive.

soundtrack of heart pulsing in ears like sonar.

Drifter; flesh wrought by wind; spread-

Let your heart be buoyant. Let it be bright —

eagled and spring-heeled: you are not

the flick-flash of scales, ripples radiating. Find

caped, are not savior, are not crowned.

through the deep a dream that is not at all dry or hard.

Relinquish what little air you keep tucked

You are feather-heavy, doomed

in each bronchiole, let it be what it was meant for:

to wake in sweat and draft, are thorn

bubbles buoying up through thick atmosphere,

in the palm of a sanguine-hued sky.

popping the surface. Let this be

You extend your arms to stretch, reaching

a struggle against ancient chaos. Mouth wide open:

to cuff a cloud in the cup of your hands.

allow the passage of water and gurgle the fallen sky.

Samuel J. Fox

70

WINDHOVER

Tyler Hayes

72

73

WINDHOVER

Tyler Hayes

72

73

Katelyn Auger

Katelyn Auger

WINDHOVER

SILVER

Someone has to be first into the theatre, spotting the small unlit aisle arrows— a pause in the emergency plan exists.

Arms raise on impulse.

dance into and away from one another,

VOLUME 50

Inky silhouettes of hands

magnified against a cool silver white rarely noticed.

Nothing, under the command of no one.

How, in our solitude, we wish the seats would rise and fall.

Jamal Bell

76

Joseph Silvers

77

WINDHOVER

SILVER

Someone has to be first into the theatre, spotting the small unlit aisle arrows— a pause in the emergency plan exists.

Arms raise on impulse.

dance into and away from one another,

VOLUME 50

Inky silhouettes of hands

magnified against a cool silver white rarely noticed.

Nothing, under the command of no one.

How, in our solitude, we wish the seats would rise and fall.

Jamal Bell

76

Joseph Silvers

77

WINDHOVER

LED

quicker than my eye can see What else, I ask myself,

VOLUME 50

On and off, Off and on

Do I not perceive?

Emilie Mathura

Brantley Atkinson

78

79

WINDHOVER

LED

quicker than my eye can see What else, I ask myself,

VOLUME 50

On and off, Off and on

Do I not perceive?

Emilie Mathura

Brantley Atkinson

78

79

WINDHOVER

GREENSBORO, AGAIN I’m in the kitchen chewing on cold quiche thinking about the way there’s so much pain in the world It’s the last day of July, & a cold wind sweeps the ground.

There’s a racket going on outside that sounds as if they’re hammering a pipe.

Even the motorcycle that starts up every morning seems to be in tune — the engine cycles, the hits on that pipe — they resonate, and it reminds me of waking up in the Zen center.

If I hear, it’s an unnatural sound.

If I see light, it’s fake and fluorescent working in an office, until I’m beat & benign, until I don’t even whine. For this is God’s plan,

Mar ia Mar t inez

or something like that.

Some people really believe, that America is righteous, that all this belongs and the universe is just. I’ll tell you two things: they’re wrong, and so am I.

N ich o la s Ca s a le

81

WINDHOVER

GREENSBORO, AGAIN I’m in the kitchen chewing on cold quiche thinking about the way there’s so much pain in the world It’s the last day of July, & a cold wind sweeps the ground.

There’s a racket going on outside that sounds as if they’re hammering a pipe.

Even the motorcycle that starts up every morning seems to be in tune — the engine cycles, the hits on that pipe — they resonate, and it reminds me of waking up in the Zen center.

If I hear, it’s an unnatural sound.

If I see light, it’s fake and fluorescent working in an office, until I’m beat & benign, until I don’t even whine. For this is God’s plan,

Mar ia Mar t inez

or something like that.

Some people really believe, that America is righteous, that all this belongs and the universe is just. I’ll tell you two things: they’re wrong, and so am I.

N ich o la s Ca s a le

81

WINDHOVER

of American ideals. Two lawyers, having

I’d balance my chin in a puckered hand,

earned their way to the top from humble

maintaining eye contact throughout ses-

beginnings, passing for white, just barely. I

sions. Throughout these appointments, I

can hardly be mad when I look at the two

had learned how to feign normal enough

of them. It is a matter of objective vileness,

to pass unnoticed. Mirroring helped—

a general notion and indicator of denial in

most everyone liked to think themselves

favor of materialism and stature that the

ordinary, or, in better words, similar to

I used to smile easier. Now it is an exercise,

two have merely become examples of. Fully

others. A tranquil, flickering smile, one

a mechanical response pattern to save

assimilated. I blame them for it, though

that seemed to always be there rather than

time from having to explain myself. I study

rolling my eyes seems an absurd gesture

one that seemed as though it had to be

others, mirror their inhabited positions

to make in response. One thing that isn’t

drudged up.

and expressions to put them at ease. It is

their fault.

HOW TO PUT ON A MASK

The woman I had at first was wary of me.

VOLUME 50

simpler, to stretch myself into a shape people are more comfortable with. I’d learned

Funny that the child that initially marked

I changed my mannerisms too quickly,

to do it years ago, and I am practiced to

their beginning as newer, smarter, better,

and shifted the answers to my ques-

the point that it doesn’t bother me for the

stronger, (whiter,) people exists now only

tions regularly enough for her to know

most part. Occasionally a twinge in my side

to halt their progression forward from a

they weren’t entirely true. The two men

will remind me that my outside is separate

more recent past they already want to be

afterward were more susceptible to body

from my inside, and that I shouldn’t be this

done with.

language. Head tilted slightly down, wide eyes, legs crossed above the knee, casual,

way, but I can forget it in favor of being My psychiatrist in elementary school sug-

non-threatening. Submissive, pink and

gested I had a “looser grip than most” on

turquoise. I spoke in a soft voice, as I was

Isaac and Grace Vazquez dedicated their

reality. Has it slipped farther from my grasp

supposed to, masking the ghosts that

futures to escaping their pasts, so in retro-

in my habitual mimicry? At times, I wonder

swam in my head. Adults like to believe

spect, I find it contradictory that they took

if my clinical diagnoses from then and

that children always tell the truth. Because

shelter in Theresa’s memory-riddled home

now would form a matching pair if I turned

if badness exists from the beginning, where

thirteen years ago to resolve their marital

up at that office again for those tests I

does our innocence go? Fuck that.

confusions. Though I suppose it must be

insistently answered falsely. Most people

hard to run away when you can’t conceive

don’t understand that you can’t be helped

My father eventually withdrew me from

of anywhere left to go. My father moved

if you don’t accept it. I had been insulted

that place, as it didn’t stop me pulling away

up north at eighteen in an attempt to shed

that I was scanned for anomalies. I fought

from my mother when she had a hold on my

the stereotype-laden image that came

my mother, and that made me wrong. My

wrists. Those were always what she reached

with being the child of two illegal Mexican

parents took me there not because they

for first. It didn’t stop me from wearing short-

immigrants. My mother, a denier of her

wanted to help me; they wanted me to be

sleeved shirts when we had guests over.

heritage, ignored it in favor of her dreams

fixed. It would have been different.

Some behaviors we are forced to fight for.

looked at as a human being. A quiet girl.

82

83

WINDHOVER

of American ideals. Two lawyers, having

I’d balance my chin in a puckered hand,

earned their way to the top from humble

maintaining eye contact throughout ses-

beginnings, passing for white, just barely. I

sions. Throughout these appointments, I

can hardly be mad when I look at the two

had learned how to feign normal enough

of them. It is a matter of objective vileness,

to pass unnoticed. Mirroring helped—

a general notion and indicator of denial in

most everyone liked to think themselves

favor of materialism and stature that the

ordinary, or, in better words, similar to

I used to smile easier. Now it is an exercise,

two have merely become examples of. Fully

others. A tranquil, flickering smile, one

a mechanical response pattern to save

assimilated. I blame them for it, though

that seemed to always be there rather than

time from having to explain myself. I study

rolling my eyes seems an absurd gesture

one that seemed as though it had to be

others, mirror their inhabited positions

to make in response. One thing that isn’t

drudged up.

and expressions to put them at ease. It is

their fault.

HOW TO PUT ON A MASK

The woman I had at first was wary of me.

VOLUME 50

simpler, to stretch myself into a shape people are more comfortable with. I’d learned

Funny that the child that initially marked

I changed my mannerisms too quickly,

to do it years ago, and I am practiced to

their beginning as newer, smarter, better,

and shifted the answers to my ques-

the point that it doesn’t bother me for the

stronger, (whiter,) people exists now only

tions regularly enough for her to know

most part. Occasionally a twinge in my side

to halt their progression forward from a

they weren’t entirely true. The two men

will remind me that my outside is separate

more recent past they already want to be

afterward were more susceptible to body

from my inside, and that I shouldn’t be this

done with.

language. Head tilted slightly down, wide eyes, legs crossed above the knee, casual,

way, but I can forget it in favor of being My psychiatrist in elementary school sug-

non-threatening. Submissive, pink and

gested I had a “looser grip than most” on

turquoise. I spoke in a soft voice, as I was

Isaac and Grace Vazquez dedicated their

reality. Has it slipped farther from my grasp

supposed to, masking the ghosts that

futures to escaping their pasts, so in retro-

in my habitual mimicry? At times, I wonder

swam in my head. Adults like to believe

spect, I find it contradictory that they took

if my clinical diagnoses from then and

that children always tell the truth. Because

shelter in Theresa’s memory-riddled home

now would form a matching pair if I turned

if badness exists from the beginning, where

thirteen years ago to resolve their marital

up at that office again for those tests I

does our innocence go? Fuck that.

confusions. Though I suppose it must be

insistently answered falsely. Most people

hard to run away when you can’t conceive

don’t understand that you can’t be helped

My father eventually withdrew me from

of anywhere left to go. My father moved

if you don’t accept it. I had been insulted

that place, as it didn’t stop me pulling away

up north at eighteen in an attempt to shed

that I was scanned for anomalies. I fought

from my mother when she had a hold on my

the stereotype-laden image that came

my mother, and that made me wrong. My

wrists. Those were always what she reached

with being the child of two illegal Mexican

parents took me there not because they

for first. It didn’t stop me from wearing short-

immigrants. My mother, a denier of her

wanted to help me; they wanted me to be

sleeved shirts when we had guests over.

heritage, ignored it in favor of her dreams

fixed. It would have been different.

Some behaviors we are forced to fight for.

looked at as a human being. A quiet girl.

82

83

WINDHOVER

Making oneself unnoticeable is somewhat

a person’s peace more often than not, stay

difficult for a person most commonly iden-

away from people who can trigger their re-

tified as a woman. It comes with repetition.

pressed perceived-to-be-homosexual urges.

Folding in my limbs, eyes down, those are givens. Eye contact typically serves

My hair is the biggest feminine signifier I

as an invitation. Though it is important

wear. Apart from my height, yet another

to note, lack thereof sometimes does as

attribute frequently mistakenly conflated

well. “You’ll look prettier if you smile.” You

with gender. People are intrigued by the

can neither be passive nor aggressive,

combination of my brown skin and waves

conventional nor unconventional. If I hate

of pale hair. The color skipped a gener-

them, I am playing hard to get; if I am

ation, the shock white coming from my

friendly, I still want to fuck them. There’s

grandmother and somehow resurfacing in

the rub: trying to look precisely unfuckable

me. It draws attention when it is out—some

enough to make them want to look away,

ask to touch it. Others are more pointed in

but not enough so that they feel compelled

their accusations: “What are you?” Tired.

to make it known to me. Because, apparently, the worst thing in the world is to be a

The categorizations people throw at me

woman while not being attractive to men.

feel like trusses bound round by wrists, tape over my mouth. A dirty colored girl,

Trying to walk a line between opposites

half-breed, something between man and

is precarious, but like most things I put

woman, something between human and

my mind to, I have figured out a some-

not, acceptable and not, sane and not,

what consistent way of avoiding atten-

something like a person. I have not the

tion through practice. I experiment with

luxury of being able to run away as my

different methods on my daily trips on the

parents do, nor have I the desire to. I allow

metro. I wear nondescript clothes. I read

people to decide what they want. I decide

books. Freud is a favorite, he seems to

what I want. I draw a line that only I know

ward off pests better than, say, Proust or

of, and I am the only one who can cross it

Hemingway. Even Plath draws in those who

freely. I tuck my hair into sexless hats.

desperately want to share with me their feminist aspirations. Proust attracts hipster boys who long to imprint upon wild, unsuspecting girls. Hemingway draws in romantics. Some men on the subway mistake my reading as a way to introduce themselves through what they believe to be mutual interest rather than as an excuse not to speak with anyone. Androgyny suits me, and white men, being the sole predators of

84

Mary Anna Rice

WINDHOVER

Making oneself unnoticeable is somewhat

a person’s peace more often than not, stay

difficult for a person most commonly iden-

away from people who can trigger their re-

tified as a woman. It comes with repetition.

pressed perceived-to-be-homosexual urges.

Folding in my limbs, eyes down, those are givens. Eye contact typically serves

My hair is the biggest feminine signifier I

as an invitation. Though it is important

wear. Apart from my height, yet another

to note, lack thereof sometimes does as

attribute frequently mistakenly conflated

well. “You’ll look prettier if you smile.” You

with gender. People are intrigued by the

can neither be passive nor aggressive,

combination of my brown skin and waves

conventional nor unconventional. If I hate

of pale hair. The color skipped a gener-

them, I am playing hard to get; if I am

ation, the shock white coming from my

friendly, I still want to fuck them. There’s

grandmother and somehow resurfacing in

the rub: trying to look precisely unfuckable

me. It draws attention when it is out—some

enough to make them want to look away,

ask to touch it. Others are more pointed in

but not enough so that they feel compelled

their accusations: “What are you?” Tired.

to make it known to me. Because, apparently, the worst thing in the world is to be a

The categorizations people throw at me

woman while not being attractive to men.

feel like trusses bound round by wrists, tape over my mouth. A dirty colored girl,

Trying to walk a line between opposites

half-breed, something between man and

is precarious, but like most things I put

woman, something between human and

my mind to, I have figured out a some-

not, acceptable and not, sane and not,

what consistent way of avoiding atten-

something like a person. I have not the

tion through practice. I experiment with

luxury of being able to run away as my

different methods on my daily trips on the

parents do, nor have I the desire to. I allow

metro. I wear nondescript clothes. I read

people to decide what they want. I decide

books. Freud is a favorite, he seems to

what I want. I draw a line that only I know

ward off pests better than, say, Proust or

of, and I am the only one who can cross it

Hemingway. Even Plath draws in those who

freely. I tuck my hair into sexless hats.

desperately want to share with me their feminist aspirations. Proust attracts hipster boys who long to imprint upon wild, unsuspecting girls. Hemingway draws in romantics. Some men on the subway mistake my reading as a way to introduce themselves through what they believe to be mutual interest rather than as an excuse not to speak with anyone. Androgyny suits me, and white men, being the sole predators of

84

Mary Anna Rice

VOLUME 50

Sadie Red Wing

87

VOLUME 50

Sadie Red Wing

87

WINDHOVER

WHEN YOUNGER Maybe if I read more Then I’d have the words to say In the cafeteria, and in the colonnade And on the bleachers in the winter

VOLUME 50

At the end of the day.

Or maybe the choice of what to say Would be too much to make.

Yeah, I can only remember all of the waiting to find Something worthy and “right” Inside my arrogant mind.

All of your movements were so swift and serene On hazy fields, green and green.

Hah, places we thought we’d never leave!

Cruel boys, ever gaping eyes..

You burn me out.

Na th a n Fo rb es

Nick Fair

88

89

WINDHOVER

WHEN YOUNGER Maybe if I read more Then I’d have the words to say In the cafeteria, and in the colonnade And on the bleachers in the winter

VOLUME 50

At the end of the day.

Or maybe the choice of what to say Would be too much to make.

Yeah, I can only remember all of the waiting to find Something worthy and “right” Inside my arrogant mind.

All of your movements were so swift and serene On hazy fields, green and green.

Hah, places we thought we’d never leave!

Cruel boys, ever gaping eyes..

You burn me out.

Na th a n Fo rb es

Nick Fair

88

89

WINDHOVER

VOLUME 50

Jacob Lineberry

90

91

WINDHOVER

VOLUME 50

Jacob Lineberry

90

91

WINDHOVER

VOLUME 50

Katelynn McCorquodale

92

93

WINDHOVER

VOLUME 50

Katelynn McCorquodale

92

93

OLD BLACK LOAFERS Once you were new and shiny as a penny.

I remember when I wore you to church--you felt so alive to me.

Old black loafers...

I remember when you got your black eye

You stopped shining as much as you used to

VOLUME 50

and started looking sick.

I remember I tried to revive you.

Fixed your broken strings that twirled through the holes like organs, but I couldn’t feel your heartbeat.

I tried to give you life with the dusty old rag and heavy black shoe shine, yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make the rag squeak.

Arlan Wallace

Corey Myrick

94

OLD BLACK LOAFERS Once you were new and shiny as a penny.

I remember when I wore you to church--you felt so alive to me.

Old black loafers...

I remember when you got your black eye

You stopped shining as much as you used to

VOLUME 50

and started looking sick.

I remember I tried to revive you.

Fixed your broken strings that twirled through the holes like organs, but I couldn’t feel your heartbeat.

I tried to give you life with the dusty old rag and heavy black shoe shine, yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make the rag squeak.

Arlan Wallace

Corey Myrick

94

WINDHOVER

VOLUME 50

Maria Martinez

96

97

WINDHOVER

VOLUME 50

Maria Martinez

96

97

AUDIO SUBMISSIONS

Karin Bennett | Hand in Hand Gradeon Martin | Morse Code Vince Inherent | Dawn Break Justin Kuhn | Somnambulance Phillip Buriak | Polar Array Matthew Wright | Wanna Love You Chad Yëager | Lab Partners RErework Adam Davis | Doubt Phillip Buriak | Bioluminescence

windhover.bandcamp.com

AUDIO SUBMISSIONS

Karin Bennett | Hand in Hand Gradeon Martin | Morse Code Vince Inherent | Dawn Break Justin Kuhn | Somnambulance Phillip Buriak | Polar Array Matthew Wright | Wanna Love You Chad Yëager | Lab Partners RErework Adam Davis | Doubt Phillip Buriak | Bioluminescence

windhover.bandcamp.com

A LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

It is a blessing to be able to present to you this year’s Windhover. Each individual piece of visual art, literature, and music in this book says a little about its creator, but as a whole, the pieces say a lot about our school. This university is home to an incredibly diverse set of individuals and the work featured in this publication reflects that. I was amazed at the talent exhibited by some of the people associated with NC State and I hope you are too.

I would like to extend my gratitude to a few people who helped make this publication possible. First to Martha and the rest of the Student Media Staff; it was a whirlwind taking on this project with little knowledge of what to expect, so thank you all for your guidance and support. Next, to Kenny Shepard and Theo Davis Printing. Thank you for helping us endlessly with printing this publication and for caring about it as much as we do. A huge thank you to the Windhover staff for your devoted commitment and fresh ideas this year. And finally, thank you to everyone who submitted their work. Obviously, this publication would not exist without you, and we appreciate you taking the time to contribute.

Working on Windhover this past year has been an absolute pleasure. I’m still struggling to accept that it’s over. One rarely gets a chance to lead a team as talented as this year’s staff and I am endlessly grateful for the opportunity. Thinking back to where we started off this year to where we have ended, I could not be more proud of the amount of time, effort, and care everyone has put into this moving work of art.

K.g.

A LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

It is a blessing to be able to present to you this year’s Windhover. Each individual piece of visual art, literature, and music in this book says a little about its creator, but as a whole, the pieces say a lot about our school. This university is home to an incredibly diverse set of individuals and the work featured in this publication reflects that. I was amazed at the talent exhibited by some of the people associated with NC State and I hope you are too.

I would like to extend my gratitude to a few people who helped make this publication possible. First to Martha and the rest of the Student Media Staff; it was a whirlwind taking on this project with little knowledge of what to expect, so thank you all for your guidance and support. Next, to Kenny Shepard and Theo Davis Printing. Thank you for helping us endlessly with printing this publication and for caring about it as much as we do. A huge thank you to the Windhover staff for your devoted commitment and fresh ideas this year. And finally, thank you to everyone who submitted their work. Obviously, this publication would not exist without you, and we appreciate you taking the time to contribute.

Working on Windhover this past year has been an absolute pleasure. I’m still struggling to accept that it’s over. One rarely gets a chance to lead a team as talented as this year’s staff and I am endlessly grateful for the opportunity. Thinking back to where we started off this year to where we have ended, I could not be more proud of the amount of time, effort, and care everyone has put into this moving work of art.

K.g.

WINDHOVER volume 50

Editor-in-Chief

Kaanchee Gandhi

Design Editor

Ryland Bishop

Designer

Sonia Hupfeld-Cousineau

Publication Adviser

Martha Collins

Literary Editor

Threa Almontaser

Visual Editor

Cyrus Homesley

Audio Editor

Ashley Darrisaw

Literary Committee

Nikita Chintalapudi Jessica Bowen

Visual Committee

Rhett Hissam Adam Cunningham

Audio Committee

Dylan Bryant Ben Webber

Printing

Theo Davis Printing Typefaces - Source Sans Pro, Edita Paper - #100 Opus Dull Dividers - Rainbow Foil Copies - 1,250

WINDHOVER volume 50

Editor-in-Chief

Kaanchee Gandhi

Design Editor

Ryland Bishop

Designer

Sonia Hupfeld-Cousineau

Publication Adviser

Martha Collins

Literary Editor

Threa Almontaser

Visual Editor

Cyrus Homesley

Audio Editor

Ashley Darrisaw

Literary Committee

Nikita Chintalapudi Jessica Bowen

Visual Committee

Rhett Hissam Adam Cunningham

Audio Committee

Dylan Bryant Ben Webber

Printing

Theo Davis Printing Typefaces - Source Sans Pro, Edita Paper - #100 Opus Dull Dividers - Rainbow Foil Copies - 1,250