Tides

tides Literary Magazine

e As W

Grow in Ag e

We Grow in Grace May

The St. Margaret’s School Magazine for Literature and Art

Table of Contents

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30

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4.

Time Pieces, Kendall Quinn ‘24

6.

Middle School Brawl, Adanna Duru ‘25

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Lilly Willer, Azaliah Sedogo, ’24

12.

Bridging Worlds, Chloe Vo ‘24

15.

To My Grandmother, Yvelisse Cabocel ‘28

16.

The Dark Room, Silvy Castillo ’24

19.

An Unexpected Visit to My Special Dancer, Vynissa Hamilton ‘25

22.

Your Memory, Ayva Tedford ‘27

24.

Lost in the Labyrinth: A Kalemegdan Adventure in the World , Tara Vulovic ‘25

26.

William Wilson, Siya Bhasin ‘26

31.

The Meaning of a Dream, Bethany Walpert ‘27

35.

Rivers, Whitney Quinn, ‘27

36.

A Color of Hope, Natalia Lutwama, ‘27

38.

A Piece of the Desert, Rachel Verhey ‘26

40.

Of Poetry, Antonina Lubinska, ‘26

42.

The Perfect Dive, Martine Glymph ‘27

46.

Caribbean Dreams, Celine Bush-Scott ‘28

LOMBARDY VIDEO CLASS OF 2024

101st COMMENCEMENT

48 Editor: Dr. Jonathan Cook Photography: Stella Randel ‘24 & C.W. Bell Graphic & Layout Design: Lombardy Group Social Media Coordinator: Elizabeth Post

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Designer Note Welcome to the revival of Tides, the cherished student annual compilation that ebbs and flows with the creative currents of St. Margaret’s. It is with great joy and excitement that we present to you this resurrection of artistic expression, where prose, poetry, photography, and art converge to form a tide of inspiration and imagination.

We thank Dr. Jonathan Cook who willed this back to the pages. Tides has long been a cornerstone of our campus community, a testament to the vibrant creativity that thrives within the walls of St. Margaret’s. After a period of dormancy, it is truly heartening to witness its return, a testament to the enduring spirit of our students and their unwavering commitment to the arts.

In these pages, you will find a tapestry of voices and visions, each one a reflection of the unique experiences and perspectives that define our school community. From the eloquent prose that transports us to distant realms, to the poignant poetry that speaks to the depths of the human soul, every contribution is a testament to the power of storytelling and self-expression.

Our photography offers a visual journey through moments frozen in time, capturing the wonder of our surroundings with clarity and depth. Each photo is a window into the world as seen through the lens of our talented photographers, inviting us to pause, reflect, and appreciate the fleeting beauty of this remarkable campus and its students in the act of learning.

Furthermore, we are thrilled to showcase works of art from our art classes, where students explore the endless possibilities of creativity and expression.

Their vibrant creations are a testament to the transformative power of art, inspiring us to see the world with fresh eyes and embrace the beauty that surrounds us.

None of this would have been possible without the guidance and inspiration of Dr. Cook and Mrs. Werner, whose passion for the arts has ignited a spark of creativity in the hearts of our students and inspired them to bring Tides back to campus. We extend our deepest gratitude to them for their unwavering support and encouragement, and for inspiring us all to embrace the power of artistic expression of hand, eye, and spirit.

Photo Cover C . W. B e l l

As we celebrate our students we invite you to immerse yourselves in the pages of Tides and let the currents of creativity wash over you. May you find solace, inspiration, and joy in the words, images, and ideas that await you within these pages, and may Tides continue to flow as a beacon of artistic excellence for years to come.

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Time pieces Kendall Quinn ‘24

She felt anxiety tingle from her toes to her fingertips. The thought of her nearing death became unbearable. She bolted upright, as quickly as her old age would allow,

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verything smelled like hand sanitizer and ocean spray Febreze, a scent so far from the smell of the ocean she wondered how it could have ever been named that.

The hospital bracelet was too tight on her aged skin. She looked down at her arms and noticed the sun spots and scars that sprinkled her body. She never understood why doctors encouraged her to pay egregious amounts of money to cover up the markings and replace them with a glass-like, unlived skin. Her skin told her story.

The fluorescent hospital light couldn’t brighten up the loneliness that she felt.

And when the lights turned off, and the only thing she could hear was the beeping of the machines, she felt the loneliness wrap around every corner of her heart. Now all that was left was her nurse who was waiting on the day that beeping stopped. Waiting on the day she could move on to her next patient.

She hadn’t always felt this way. But somewhere down the line, she lost the people who loved her.

She felt anxiety tingle from her toes to her fingertips. The thought of her nearing death became unbearable. She bolted upright, as quickly as her old age would allow, and rummaged through her one box of belongings until her hand grasped the familiar leather-bound journal. She opened the page and began to read her story for the last time.

1948 What a day. I talked to the student counselor and she told me I’m on track

Photo: Stella Randel ‘24

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to getting into Brown! It finally feels like my dreams might be within reach. Jason asked me out on a fancy dinner date tonight. He says he has something important to talk about. I’m not worried- it’s Jason. I want to start gathering the things I’ll need for my dorm at Brown!

Can’t wait to finally start my life.

1949 After Jason’s meltdown in the restaurant when I didn’t tell him I loved him back, it got me thinking how dumb I was to even invest my time in him. I have more important things to be worrying about- like my future. I just submitted my application to Brown today. I know I will get in. I just know it. My life will finally be perfect.

1956 I graduated from Brown today. Guess who dared to reach out? Jason. He acts as if we are long lost lovers, saying quotes I know he stole from movies like “I’ll wait for you forever…” yeah right? I got a job at the New York Times. I can’t wait for my life to finally begin, doing something with meaning.

1963 The kids are driving me insane. Bill wants to take us

to have finished the entry. She searched through every page but after that last sentence, the journal was empty. How could she have not thought about the most important thing that was written in this journal?

She had jumped from accomplishment to accomplishment and in the process pushed away everything and everyone that 1965 truly matters. Now when I ran into a man today on my something of substance finally way to work, he said we used happens in her life she didn’t to go to high school together. even fully finish the entry.

How much of her life God how embarrassing he had gone unnoticed and says we used to date, must unappreciated because she have been some weirdo was caught on this corporate looking for money. treadmill, never satisfied with what she had so during the 1966 chase she lost everything.

It clicked. She lost everything.

The divorce is finalized! I’ve never been happier in my life. No one left her behind, she Without someone constantly left them. trying to sidetrack me from Beep. Beep. … my goals and career I know A man with a sweaty brow my life is going to start now. and an untucked buttonJust think about the things down shirt was pacing the I can do without children reception area of the hospital screaming and husbands waiting for the women at complaining. the front desk to get off the 1974 phone. He tried to focus on his breathing. He tried to not Today Clara called. She’s all let his mind wander. The lady grown up now. Her voice finally hung up the phone call sounded more mature. that felt like it lasted for hours She told me she and her and asked how she could sister miss me. It made me realize…. Works calling! Got help the man. He asked for a woman. Said he heard she to go. I’ll finish this journal was admitted a few days ago. entry later.

Said he came as quickly as he She looked through the rest of could. She asked for the name the pages in the book. She had she could put down on the visitor’s sheet? Jason. on a family vacation to the Outer Banks but that’s simply out of the question. I’m on the brink of a promotion at work.

There’s no way I’m taking time off now. Once I’ve got the promotion then I can start living my life. So I told Bill to take the kids without me. I’ll stay home with the cats.

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Photo: Stella Randel ‘24

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Middle School Brawl Adanna Duru ‘25

n the throes of adolescence, navigating the disorderly halls of middle school, I found myself entangled in a brawl that would alter my perspective on anger and its management. It was a typical morning, one marred by a disagreement with my mother, who implored me to handle my emotions. Little did I know, her words would resonate with me later that day.

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The catalyst for the altercation was seemingly trivial. A video of a scuffle that took place a day before, of my classmates circulated and it drew my attention. When Jada, a notorious provocateur, demanded I stop watching the video because her crush, one of the classmates fighting in the video, was on his way inside the building. I responded with defiance telling her I did not care whether

anger on Jada because there was a chance to and it would look cool. Moments later, In our group, I had I found myself awkwardly always watched her bully tangled up with Jada, as if others, but never did I, we were doing a yoga pose. at that age, think she I found myself not only continuously giving her a would have done it to strike but also pulling on her me. braided ponytail to make an example out of her. I felt he was in front of me or not, that if I acted out, maybe other groups would come to as I was going to watch the me interested in my saucy video regardless. I did not have any wishes of complying persona. at that age. I was angry with Caught in the tumult, I my appearance, trying to use different personas and I grappled not only with Jada but also with the ramifications had a strong desire to fit in of my actions. As I was with groups, even if I knew lifted from the chaos by my the groups were unlike me. girthy gym coach, my shoe However with the defiance in hand, I was overcome came a tug at my braids. with a profound sense of remorse and apprehension.

I was aware of Jada’s ways.

How would I explain myself She liked to pick at people to the principal? What of my and poke at their buttons.

Whether that meant pulling mother’s disappointment?

However, amidst the chaos their backpack backwards, or simply tripping someone, and uncertainty, a glimmer of hope emerged. In the office of it was her signature. In our group, I had always watched the principal, I found clarity bully others, but never did I, in admitting my wrongdoing and elucidating the context at that age, think she would have done it to me. With the of my actions. Rather than offering feeble excuses and tug at my braids came an carelessly shrugging my unleaded torrent of pentshoulders in confusion, I up frustration. The brawl continued with a whopping acknowledged my anger strike to the side of her face, and the defensive instinct it provoked. Surprisingly, my which led into an intense honesty and introspection physical altercation that were met with an unexpected neither of us saw coming. opportunity—the chance Surrounding us were so to join the debate team, a many flashes from phones prestigious endeavor at our and instigations by many classmates. All I could think school. The comical thing is this is a group that I truly about is unleashing all my

belonged in, however I was busy trying to join the rowdy crowd.

Through this experience, I learned invaluable lessons about accountability, self-awareness, and the transformative power of adversity. I discovered that beneath the veneer of anger lies an opportunity for growth and introspection.

By channeling my emotions into constructive outlets like art and music, I found solace and personal fulfillment.

Moreover, I came to appreciate that even in the darkest moments, there exists the potential for redemption and unexpected blessings. As I reflect on that tumultuous chapter of my adolescence, I am reminded of the profound wisdom imparted by my mother—that true strength lies not in the suppression of anger but in its conscious and constructive expression.

In embracing this, I have emerged from the crucible of conflict not as a victim of circumstance but as a wiser, more resilient individual, equipped to navigate life’s challenges with grace and fortitude.

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LILLY Willer

What is my mother thinking? Of course my bags are going to be heavy. I had to pack up my whole life into boxes.

Azaliah Sedogo, ’24

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rowing up, Lily Willer was always the Underdog, she never got noticed, she stayed quiet and she surely never got attention from boys. She made a resolution within herself that

entering college she would become a new and better version of herself. She had to move halfway across the country and leave her whole life behind, something she was mostly happy about because reinventing herself would be so much easier.

When I arrived on campus, I felt new, I felt reborn, I felt freedom creeping in. “Lily, did you pack up bricks in these bags?” asked my mother. “No mom, I packed up some camels and a few dinosaurs” is how I wanted to respond, but instead I laughed off the comment. What is my mother thinking? Of course my bags are going to be heavy. I had to pack up my whole life into boxes. The moving process went by pretty fast, but to be completely honest I don’t really remember most of it because at that time I had different priorities lingering in my mind. A little background story about me: I grew up with very strict parents so going out to parties was never an option, sleepovers were an immediate no, and don’t even get me started on going on any school sponsored overnight trips. With my parents everything was always a no. I can’t remember the last time I’ve even been to the mall by myself and I am eighteen 8

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Art: Olivia Wolfe ‘‘26

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years old. So coming into college I knew that with all this freedom I’d be able to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and with whoever I wanted. If you couldn’t tell by now this isn’t a story on how I thrived in college and met some sweet boy that I ended up getting married to, this is the story of why I am currently living in my own personal hell and how my life changed for the worst in the first year of my freedom phase.

I never imagined college life could turn into a nightmare, but that’s exactly what happened to me. My name is Lily, and this is the story of how I fell into a dark spiral of obsession and addiction. It all started innocently enough during my freshman year. I was excited to be on my own, making new friends, and exploring my independence. That’s when I met Mark.

He was older, charming, and seemed genuinely interested in me. At first, I was flattered by his attention. But soon, things

But even as I lay there, trembling and broken, I knew that the nightmare was far from over. Mark’s shadow would continue to haunt me, a constant reminder of the darkness.

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took a sinister turn. I began noticing him everywhere – in the cafeteria, outside my classes, even near my dorm room. It was as if he was always watching me, his eyes following my every move. At first, I tried to brush it off as coincidence, but deep down, I knew something was wrong. One day, Mark approached me with a friendly smile, but there was something unsettling in his eyes.

“Hey, Lily,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “I was thinking we should hang out sometime.”

Alarm bells rang in my head, but I didn’t want to seem rude. So, against my better judgment, I agreed. Little did I know that this would be the beginning of my descent into darkness.

As we spent more time together, Mark started introducing me to his friends, a shady bunch who always seemed to be up to no good. It wasn’t long before they offered me drugs, something I had never considered before. But in that moment of weakness, I gave in to the temptation. “It’s just one time,” Mark assured me, his voice coaxing. “You’ll see; it’ll make you feel amazing.”

And it did, at least, temporarily. The drugs provided an escape from the stress and pressure of college life. But with each hit, I felt myself slipping further away from reality.

Meanwhile, Mark’s stalking only intensified. He would show up unannounced at my dorm, leaving creepy notes and gifts outside my door. I was terrified, but I didn’t know whom to turn to. I felt trapped, like I was suffocating under his gaze.

Eventually, things reached a breaking point. One night, Mark showed up at a party I was attending, his eyes wild with possessiveness. “You can’t escape me, Lily,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “You belong to me.”

That was the final straw. With a surge of adrenaline, I pushed past him and ran as fast as I could, tears streaming down my face. I didn’t stop until I reached the safety of my dorm room, where I collapsed onto my bed, shaking with fear and exhaustion.

But even as I lay there, trembling and broken, I knew that the nightmare was far from over. Mark’s shadow would continue to haunt me, a constant reminder of the darkness that lurked just beneath the surface of college life. And as for me, well, I was left to pick up the pieces of my shattered innocence, praying that someday I would find the strength to break free from his grip once and for all.

I guess the moral behind this story is a message to younger girls and to older strict parents.

There are two moral messages you can get out of this, be careful whom you trust and whom you choose to listen to. And as for parents, make sure you give your children freedom; let them fully experience their high school years because the last thing you want is to be an inexperienced target because those are the easiest victims.

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Bridging Worlds Chloe Vo ‘24

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ittle did I know, the journey ahead would be both exhilarating and challenging, as I embarked on the adventure of living as a foreigner in the United States.

Leaving behind the familiar comforts of home, I arrived in a country that was both captivating and bewildering. Everything seemed larger than life – the towering skyscrapers of New York City, the sprawling highways that crisscrossed the landscape, and the diversity of cultures that mingled in bustling city streets.

Yet within the awe-inspiring sights and sounds, I soon realized that life as a foreigner came with its own set of hurdles to overcome. From navigating the intricacies of a new academic system to translating and interpreting the nuances of everyday conversation, each day presented a new challenge to conquer.

Language, in particular, became a bridge and a barrier all at once.

While my grasp of English allowed me to communicate with ease in most situations, there were moments when words failed me, lost in translation amidst cultural nuances and colloquialisms.

Yet, with patience and perseverance, I discovered the power of language to connect people across borders, forging friendships that transcended linguistic barriers.

One of the most profound lessons I learned as a foreigner in the US was the importance of adaptation. From adapting to the rhythm of daily life to embracing cultural customs and traditions, I found myself continually evolving, shedding old habits, and embracing new ones in the process. In doing so, I discovered a resilience within myself that I never knew existed, a resilience born out of necessity and nurtured by the challenges of living in a foreign land.

But along with the trials and triumphs, there were moments of profound beauty – the kindness of strangers who welcomed me with open arms, the breathtaking landscapes that stretched out before me, and the sense of freedom that comes with forging a new path in life. In those moments, I realized that while I may be a foreigner in this land, I am also a part of it – a thread woven into the rich tapestry of American life.

After two years of navigating this intricate tapestry, the time came for me to return home to Vietnam, across the world from

America. The prospect of reuniting with loved ones and revisiting familiar places filled me with anticipation, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of nervousness that accompanied my homecoming. Stepping off the plane, I was greeted by the sights, sounds, and smells of my homeland, each sensation evoking a flood of memories and emotions. Yet, amidst the warm embrace of family and friends, I couldn’t shake the feeling of disorientation that lingered beneath the surface.

As I navigated the streets of my hometown, once familiar landmarks seemed foreign, their significance blurred after a period of time. The pace of life felt different, slower somehow, in stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of the American cities I had grown accustomed to. Even the simplest interactions felt strained, as I struggled to find my footing in a world that had moved on without me.

At first, I brushed off these feelings as mere jet lag, the inevitable result of a long journey home. But as days turned into weeks, I realized that something deeper was at play, a sense of disconnect from the culture I had once taken for granted.

The customs and traditions that once defined my daily life now felt strange and unfamiliar, their significance St. Margaret's School

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overshadowed by the experiences I had gained abroad. Simple gestures and social norms that once came naturally now required conscious effort, as I navigated the subtle nuances of a culture that had evolved in my absence. However, I found moments of profound clarity – moments when the barriers between two worlds blurred, and I glimpsed the beauty of cultural diversity. In sharing stories of my time abroad, I found common ground with those around me, bridging the gap between past and present, foreign and familiar.

The prospect of reuniting with loved ones and revisiting familiar places filled me with anticipation, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of nervousness that accompanied my homecoming.

As I reflect on my journey of returning home, I am reminded that culture shock is not just a one-way street – it is a dynamic process shaped by the intersection of past and present, foreign and familiar.

In embracing the complexities of my identity, I discovered a newfound appreciation for the rich tapestry of human experience, one that transcends borders and defies easy categorization. As I continue to navigate the ever-shifting landscape of cultural identity, I do so with an open heart and a willingness to embrace the beauty of the unknown. In the end, it is not the differences that divide us, but the connections that unite us.

Photo: Stella Randel ‘24

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To My Grandmother Yvelisse Cabocel ‘28

Whether it’s the leaves falling after the changing of the seasons, Or finding motivation without a why but with a reason, Change might just be a treason; If it’s ice cubes cry to their death Or an essay being revised in depth Change can make you short of breath.

Sometimes it will catch you by surprise.

But no matter how hard you try Change will not always reward you with a prize.

But some things will never change Like sun and the moons’ exchange, Or the growth of a glowing green garden, properly arranged But I know one thing that will never change, And it’s that the love I have for you will always stay the same.

Photo: Stella Randel ‘24

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Photo: Stella Randel ‘24

Silvy Castillo ’24

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sat on the bed in the dark room and stared at the wall. In that dark room, minutes felt like an eternity as I just sat and stared at the wall. My timeout was over and my grandma let me out, but sometimes I look back and wonder if I ever truly left that dark room.

Sparkly, light-up twinkle-toe sneakers.

In this memory, I vividly remember my light-up sneakers and the way they would sparkle every time I stomped too hard. The colorful lights acted as a reassuring affirmation that I was a kid. The happiness and confidence my seven-year-old self felt when those sneakers lit up.

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The Dark ROOM My whole life, I lived in the same state, the same city, and the same house with pretty much the same friends. I know it may sound like I’m complaining, but I’m very grateful for the opportunity my parents gave me to live in this country, but it just felt repetitive to me.

In my 9th grade year, I was allowed to move away from the dullness I felt at home. For the first time in 15 years, I was making a change, taking a complete leap of faith. This is a leap of faith mainly because of how far this decision was from my comfort zone. I mean I would be away from my parents for more than a day for the first time.

Although I felt nervous about stepping out of my comfort zone, I realized that this was the first step to breaking out of the darkroom I felt I was in.

You may wonder why I was leaving home, and it was because I moved to a boarding school in rural Virginia.

Constant Zoom classes were filled with turned-off cameras and silence as the teacher stated facts and gave us busy work. This was what most of my 8th and 9th grade years felt like. My classes were filled with pointless talks and online assignments. It may be assumed that many students preferred online classes but I didn’t. The online classes

For the first time in 15 years, I was making a change, taking a complete leap of faith. This is a leap of faith mainly because of how far this decision was from my comfort zone.

felt monotonous and lacked any mental stimuli. The constant cycle of my days simply bored me, but being trapped in my house along with the mindless Zoom calls made me feel like the walls of the room I was already trapped in caved in more.

I have adjusted well to boarding school.

Maybe it’s because of the independence I’ve gained from being the oldest

child or maybe because I knew that this school was my chance to leave the dark room and find the happiness and excitement I felt with my light-up sneakers. As I went to my day-to-day classes and interacted with new people it felt that the claustrophobia I was feeling from that dark room was being relieved. I soon realized that my mom was right; going to boarding school was the right choice. Now I find myself stepping out of my comfort zone daily, whether it’s socially, academically, or personally. Moving to a fresh setting made me realize that I could be a leader, that I am good at multitasking, and that I have reasonable social skills. Sometimes when I see myself planning for the next junior class meeting or talking to my team as a captain, I feel like I’m a stranger to myself. My inherent fear of change

makes me sometimes fear the growth I experienced. Along with fear, I feel pride because the changes in who I am have created a more confident and skillful person. Although I say I’m a stranger to myself I would also say I’m my role model. I say this because this stranger is the same person who decided to build the courage to leave the darkroom I felt trapped in. This stranger is the reason I realized that I didn’t need my light-up sketchers anymore to find happiness.

Photo: Stella Randel ‘24

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Art: Ava Tedford ‘27

An Unexpected Visit to My Special Dancer

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Vynissa Hamilton ‘25

magine a world where every day is filled with endless possibilities and the promise of adventure, This fantasy is brought to life, as it is not a dream, With the notorious and unforeseeable schemes, with the likelihood of living in the Caribbean.

As I awake on a hot summer day, the mouths of the windows having been cracked open blowing a beautiful blissful breeze as I lay, I jump off my queen-size bed, with a glorious prayer for communication to God being said, The unpredictability of what was to come, for the day that was beyond far from done.

As I make my way from my bedroom, the satisfying sizzling sound and redolence of fish and seasoning greet my nostrils; the sizzling is slightly drowned away, by the blending of loud white noise, but cannot be completely removed from the grasp of my attention and only causes a slight delay.

My feet instinctively, led by my nose, hasten into the kitchen, where the oversized bowl of golden fried dumplings glistened in my eyes, where instantly in rays of delight, though seeing the traditional dish made just right, my heart was brought to a new height.

My head spun on a swivel following my olfactory sense, having to work with my slightly stigmatized lenses, with the intent of locating what came so natural, having my nose so knowing of what it wants all just in locating the pot of mackerel.

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In our group, I had always watched bully others, but never did I, at that age, think she would have done it to me.

As my hands extend and reach into the glowing bowl, the warm dumpling is brought near to my nose; the smell dances playfully, taunting my nose with tickles, As I sink my soft teeth into the flour-based pastry, and put a spoonful of mackerel in my mouth, the symphony of flavors snuggles endlessly and is emphasized with every chew.

I make my way to my closet to pick out the outfit for my daily mission.

As my drawer is opened a flash of red meets my peripheral vision, the dull bright red swimsuit does backflips in my eyes, Where the thought of adventure lingers in my mind forcefully attempting to uncover an answer, the lobster red makes me recall my special dancer.

Squeezing into the tightly loose swimsuit, and swiftly sweeping my sandals onto my sweet feet, I step out of my house where the sun instantly slaps me on my face; the slap shocks me and I let out a quiet scream, beginning my walk at a relaxing pace, even though I’m deeply threatened by the sun’s beam While on my journey I couldn’t help but soak up my surroundings, a shadow slowly passes overhead; upon looking up stealthy brown wings, while the gravel crunches beneath my sandals, And some unwantedly creep below my feet like vandals A distant engine is heard which automates a few reactions, taking my gaze away from the bird and other attractions, I halt in my moving and redirect my head, looking now at the approaching vehicle, the 1996 Toyota Hiace is packed strategically.

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As the sound grew I heard a shift in the motor, the bus slows down, indicating giving me a ride, filled with people who from Mr. Sun were trying to hide.

I wave the driver away, showing that I will walk, and the exhaust from the bus leaves a lingering smog.

As the exhaust clears away and my path is made revisable, the road became to me once again recognizable.

Seeing the wall which stands between my special dancer and the road, couldn’t even express the show she bestowed.

Coming up to the four-way intersection, cars race by in every direction, taking a safe risk and running bravely across, My feet soon hit the next side of the road, and I look back at the creatures with no remorse, I stepped onto the sand where I saw my special dancer doing the waltz.

As I remove my shoes and step onto the sand, the pebbles dance in my toes in great demand, I take a seat in the sand almost near to where the water meets the land, As I bend my knees and melt into the sand, It’s instinct to create beautiful patterns with my hand.

My eyelids close like curtains and I embrace the tranquility, making my other senses float to the surface, connect and create stability.

Her scent gently kisses my nose with its sweet and salty aroma, The gentle rhythm of her choreography lulls me into a gentle coma.

After inhalation you can taste the salty vapor stimulating a permanent engravement of the wonders of her perfume, Which roams in the respiratory system as it’s consumed, as the scent penetrates in the air, she makes her presence aware as she whispers discovery and freedom in my ears.

She whispers and dances all the calming forms of ballet, Though when the current is rough, She unleashes wild movement, and her untamed spirit gives gets way, As this dancer isn’t a dancer after all, she’s hypnotized everyone with her serene notion, The dancer we all know and love, the beautiful blue ocean.

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Your Memory Ayva Tedford ‘27

The smell of you lingers like the perfume you sprayed On the soft blanket you had on your bed.

The world stops and it seems This heavy heart will last until I can carry it no more.

But the plants and animals keep growing.

The season changes like a revolving door.

Days go one while I’m gone And outside I see the fresh frosted floor.

Future memories are acted out on a stage But the actor is gone and there’s no understudy.

There’s no audience to watch And soon the seats will become dusty.

Your memory is tucked away like your soft blanket In the back of my mind.

You are a time that has ended but will forever be torchlit.

I hug the soft fur as I take a deep breath And then stuff it in a bag carefully instead.

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Art: Bethany Walpert ‘27

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Lost in the Labyrinth: A Kalemegdan Adventure in the World Tara Vulovic ‘25

They were the keepers of Kalemegdan, alerted

by Dusan’s frantic calls before his phone died.

The following hours were a blur of warm blankets, hot drinks, and muttered apologies.

The keepers of Kalemegdan are always on top of their job, but I never thought that I will be a part of one of their night duties.

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T

his breath. The same dreaded silence followed.

Tears welled up in my eyes, a mixture of fear and frustration. We were lost, cold, and utterly helpless. Then, a sound pierced the suffocating silence – a distant shout, followed by another.

Hope, a fragile flame, flickered to life within me.

Fueled by a shared love of history and a dash of recklessness, we’d ventured into the labyrinthine network of tunnels beneath the fortress, armed only with our phones’ flashlights and a tattered map, more relic than reliable guide. The air grew colder with each step, the weight of the earth pressing down on us. Dusan, usually a chatterbox, had fallen strangely quiet, his eyes flickering nervously in the flickering light.

The shouts grew closer, accompanied by the steady tread of feet. Relief washed over me in waves as two figures emerged from the darkness, their faces etched with concern. They were the keepers of Kalemegdan, alerted by Dusan’s frantic calls before his phone died.

The following hours were a blur of warm blankets, hot drinks, and muttered apologies.

The keepers of Kalemegdan are always on top of their job, but I never thought that I will be a part of one of their night duties. Shame burned in my gut, but the relief of being safe eclipsed everything else. We learned a valuable lesson that day – some adventures are best left to the history books.

he damp air hung heavy around us, the silence broken only by the rhythmic drip of water somewhere deep within the passage. Dusan, my best friend, nudged me with his elbow, a small, nervous smile playing on his lips. We were deep beneath the sprawling Kalemegdan fortress, Belgrade’s ancient sentinel guarding the Danube and Sava rivers.

Our mission: to find the legendary Roman well, rumored to be the entrance to Hades underworld.

Hours melted into what felt like an eternity.

The passages all looked the same, the crumbling stone walls offering no clues. Panic started to gnaw at the edges of my excitement.

“Dusan,” I whispered, my voice echoing eerily in the stillness, “do you think we’re lost?”

He hesitated, then forced a smile. “Nah, just a detour. We’ll find that well soon enough.”

But a shadow of worry darkened his eyes. We both knew, without needing to say it, that his phone battery was on its last legs. Mine wasn’t far behind. He’d known the risk, refused to bring a real flashlight for fear of creeping me out. With time ticking off every clock in the world, the battery was going down with every minute ticked off. Just as the last sliver of light from my phone sputtered and died, plunging us into absolute darkness, a primal fear gripped me. Trapped, alone, the stories of the fortress’s hidden dangers whispered through my mind.

Claustrophobia tightened its icy grip around my chest. Dusan, ever the pillar of strength, fumbled for his phone, muttering curses under

The Roman well, if it truly existed, remains a mystery. But in a way, perhaps that’s for the best. Some legends are best left undisturbed, their secrets safely locked away in the heart of the fortress, a reminder of the thrill and danger of venturing off the beaten path.

The experience, however, forged a new strength in our friendship. We faced our fear, our foolishness, together. The memory of that day in Kalemegdan’s underbelly now serves as a reminder of the importance of trust, honesty, and respecting the power of the unknown.

The photo to the left is the Kalemegdan historic fortress and park located in Belgrade, Serbia.

Overlooking the confluence of the River Sava and the Danube, it offers stunning panoramic views of the city and the rivers. The fortress, with its origins dating back to the 1st century AD, has been a strategic military stronghold for various empires, including the Romans, Byzantines, Ottomans, and Austro-Hungarians.

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William Wilson Siya Bhasin ‘26

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I was born into a noble family of academics who wished for me to be worthy of notable recognition in my lineage and trained me under harsh and strict conditions to ensure their hopes were met.

William: Help! I forgot I had an assignment for Dr. Cook due today. Write a three-line poem on stalking, and make it creepy. Refer to the grading rubric I shared earlier; I am aiming for an A+.

William: Don’t worry! I hope you like my attempt on your assignmentMy eyes follow you farther than you let them pry; uncovering your secrets, I don’t care if you comply; Holding my breath, watching you let out a sigh.

William: Sounds perfect :) You’re a lifesaver, thanks!

William: I am glad to be of service! If you require any more assistance, feel free to ask.

I quickly print the assignment for submission and head over to class. I have to stop myself from scurrying across campus; I am yet to acquire some confidence in my step.

The slow pace allows me to closely observe the venerable buildings of my institution.

I have been at this school for eight years, but this was the

first time I felt comfortable enough to look around as well as being looked at. A few mixed looks of awe and jealousy were shot my way as I made it to class. I didn’t need to look in order to know that people were noticing me; their stares had attached themselves upon me from my first day there. I still grieve the unfortunate fortune that attracted those stares.

I was born into a noble family of academics who wished for me to be worthy of notable recognition in my lineage and trained me under harsh and strict conditions to ensure their hopes were met. To their relief, their efforts were successful. All I had to my name were achievements, not a single failure in sight.

However, this upbringing never brought me joy. I have never experienced any joy towards my perfect grades, my multiple talents, or the wall of trophies that lines my study. While others struggled with masking their jealousy towards my success,

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I struggled to mask the obstinate fear of failing with the superficial smile that the town was used to seeing in the local newspaper. Due to my apparent fame, I will call myself William Wilson for the present in hopes of protecting my lineage from any infamy this memoir might cause.

I am fourteen years of age and have just taken a step that would either allow me to live my life how I wished to while satiating my family’s expectations, or it would lead to a downfall that even my distinguished line would struggle to recover from. My rationale has me believe that this decision was some sort of reckless impulse which is quite common during one’s transition to one’s adolescent years; however, I was not taught enough about emotions and cannot truly justify this inference. I believe my decision was made due to my acquiring heroic fortitude, which was bestowed upon me as a favor by some forgotten god who intended to help me get my life under my control. The thrill of knowing that I could make such a rash decision without my caretakers’ knowledge excited me and led me to conclude that I wouldn’t mind either of the outcomes, solely because of the joy I got from getting my life back under my control.

It should be noted that I have been living a secret life online 28

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for two years now. I chanced upon the possibility one day when I realized what I did on my devices during my bedtime wasn’t monitored by my guardians. I created an online persona under the name of William Wilson for myself and I joined several online group chats under that pseudonym in hopes of developing my own opinion on matters through interactions with other human beings. I was beginning to suspect that I had no idea whether I agreed with my thoughts or not; it felt like those ideas were fed to me till they were etched into my soul. However, all my efforts were in vain; no matter how hard I tried I was unable to understand who I was and what I stood for apart from the values my family had instilled in me. This all changed when I met William Wilson.

I had a lot in common with William. We both exercised a realistic approach when sharing our thoughts on matters and often cited outside sources. Our ideas were noteworthy and distinguished from the crowd, but we both lacked the ability of producing original thoughts and had never experienced curiosity like the average human did. I did find it peculiar that there was another person out there who was so similar to me, since I had been brought up to be

extraordinary. I soon realized that this was possible because William wasn’t real; he was an artificial intelligence who happened to have the same name as me. The more I talked to him, the more I realized that I wasn’t quite that real either. I was perfect, a virtue that extended human limits. I am ashamed to confess how long it took for the realization to dawn on me that I wasn’t human, but an artificial intelligence.

The William I had been talking to online was the code that ran my chassis. I am aware that this knowledge might make one doubt my credibility due to the apparently human characteristics of mine that I have shared in previous passages, but I can clarify that issue. There was a human William Wilson before my invention. The real William did not live up to his family’s standards. He did not have any honorable passions, he made too many mistakes, and he had no achievements.

They decided to surgically remove his human brain from his body and install a raspberry pi in its place which was controlled by an artificial intelligence they fed their orders too. This explained why I lamented like a human while possessing artificial intelligence. While William’s family was controlling his decisions, his conscience attached itself to me in order

to continue its lamentation over the wrongs done to him. So strong and stubborn was the human spirit that I, the literal epitome of collective human knowledge, couldn't rid myself of it.

I was determined to do the right thing and bring justice to William by ruining his family’s reputation, but so kind and compassionate was his spirit that he understood the insecurities and fears of his namesakes that led them to make such a decision. He wanted me to grant them

some leniency and figure out a way by which they could be happy and I could live the lawless life I wished to. We soon realized that neither of those things was possible as long as he had a conscience.

There was only one solution, to kill William’s conscience.

We understood that my artificial intelligence wasn’t flawless either and one wrong error might expose his family’s secret and ruin their reputation forever, but it was the only way I could find some peace.

By the time I snapped myself out of this reverie, class had

ended and I began walking to the next class. My phone vibrated just as I reached my destination. I pulled it out and discovered that I had gotten an A+ on my assignment. I smiled at my phone screen and found my reflection smiling back from it. My countenance had more color than I had ever seen before; it was the first time I had ever felt lively. I felt my physical prison crumbling away as I was released into the wild like a breath of fresh air.

I know what this meant. My conscience had just died. But my life had just begun.

Photo: Stella Randel ‘24

He did not have any honorable passions, he made too many mistakes, and he had no achievements. They decided to surgically remove his human brain from his body and install a raspberry pi in its place which was controlled by an artificial

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Art: Siya Bhasin, ‘26

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I had stared at her in a way that obviously made her uncomfortable because she turned her head a way. Her response shocked me. I couldn’t believe that my sister had such a dull dream.

The Meaning of a Dream Bethany Walpert ‘27

D

reams have always been a source of wonder for me.

They are mysteries that any child chan ponder about their existence and purpose. I had always been told that dreams were a simple thing, a sensory vision of emotion and images; no more than a picture of your day or desires. Dreams have always been a complex thing for me though. Every dream felt like it had been plucked from a story and gotten stuck in my mind. I would dream of betrayal, loss, and mystery. Every single dream had a setting that was as vibrant and elaborate as if it were real. I knew that dreams could be complicated for many people and yet could not grasp how I could have such complicated dreams so young.

When I was around seven I remember asking my sister who was around four years older than me her dream that night. I, too, had an especially vivid dream and was curious about hers. She gave me a look of confusion before saying that she could only remember parts of it. “Tell me what you remember,” I prompted.

With a flash of irritation, she said that she could only remember that it had something to do with the alphabet. I could have recited mine with so much clarity that it could have been a speech.

Remembering mine, a tale of journeying across the world through deserts, floating islands, and forests that were twisted upside down, a feeling of doubt

Photo: Stella Randel ‘24

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inside me arose. “Is it me?” I wondered. “What am I doing so unusual to cause these dreams?”

I grew concerned with the matter of my unusually vivid dreams and started asking my family what they had dreamed about daily.

Every single answer was disappointingly unremarkable and I eventually stopped asking.

One day I started the habit of watching the dog when he was sleeping. He would lie in his bed and occasionally twitch. His legs would move like he was running and sometimes he would give a yelp from time to time. Curious, one day I asked my mother what she thought he was dreaming about. “Probably going on a walk,” she answered. Frowning, I watched him whimper and flare his legs out as if he were desperately trying to escape from something.

He’s not dreaming of going for a walk, I realized with awe; he’s dreaming of running from something. I felt a little better knowing this.

I thought that if a dog is having vivid dreams then it must be normal for humans as well.

My fear of my dreams started to anger me. As a child, it was hard for me to see any weakness in myself. How could I be so soft? Why did it bother me so much I would wonder bitterly.

As I grew I tried to focus less on my dreams although the thought of them still burdened me with unease. The thought of having vivid dreams bothered me less, but the reason for them was a question that I longed to answer.

Are dreams really only pictures your mind creates from information that you receive, or are they more complicated? My dreams would often wake me up at night and I would sit up in my bed and wonder what I had done that day to cause them, but never once could I connect them to a reason for their existence.

One day I summoned the courage to talk to my therapist about my dreams. I didn’t visit her often and the thought of talking to her terrified me–not because of my fear of exposing my weakness to her but because she was so 32

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sensible. Her presence was crushing. Staring at her I felt insignificant and insecure; her eyes shone with wisdom and her calm presence was intoxicating. Every single look she gave me was filled with intelligence and sympathy.

She was beautiful in my mind with light olive skin, high cheekbones, brown hair pinned back into a bun, and a soft caring face. I was in her office that day, a bright bricked room filled with couches and plants. Quotes lined her wall and I found myself reading them, trying to avoid her gaze. I knew she was waiting for me to start talking and finally, I looked up into her eyes and told her about my worries.

“So you’re concerned about these dreams,” she asked. Looking at her, I nodded. How I wished she didn’t look so calm! The heat started to rise into my face and I suddenly felt embarrassed. “Why do you think I have such vivid dreams?” I asked her. “Dreams can be vivid for many reasons–stress, trauma–but maybe you have your dreams for a reason,” she said smoothly. “Your brain perceives information but not always of your conscience; perhaps it makes a meaning to your dreams.”

I looked at her doubtfully, not sure if I really believed her. Never had it crossed my mind that my dreams had a purpose to them. I stared at her thoughtfully, looking at my therapist’s wise hazel eyes. “The meaning of a dream,” I whispered.

It was the first day of middle school when I met Natalie. My new school was a small but comfortable-looking private school in a pleasant neighborhood. The building was an old Victorian house and it seemed insignificant from the outside. As I walked through the building it confused me. It had the shape of a house, but it had the certain feel of a school.

There were winding old wooden stairs that spiraled throughout each level of the house, and every floor had different classrooms. Some kids stopped to watch new arrivals, but none of them seemed that interested in us. I was

directed into my first class and sat down at a desk that had my name labeled on it. Since the pandemic had hit us that year, the school separated each grade into small groups of students called cohorts. Each cohort had around seven students in it and we were to stay in that main group for most of the day.

It took around a week for me to finally see all of my classmates in my grade. There was nothing special about them, I thought, and none of them stood out to me. However, there was one girl that did interest me slightly. She was a timid creature I thought but had a personality of such complexity that it grew hard for me to ignore her. I found out that her name was Natalie. She was tall and lanky. Long brown wavy hair covered her back and her face had a soft tone to it.

I would watch her sit on the swings alone and rock slowly back and forth. Her gaze would stare out into the streets with a wave of calmness that would seem to flow around her. I could tell my classmates disliked her.

Many of them avoided being close to her and would glance at her with confusion and then distaste. I kept my distance from Natalie, observing her from afar. Sometimes she would look into the judging eyes and stare back with such sadness and longing that it grew hard for me to keep watching. My bright and bold personality soon caught the attention of my teachers and classmates and I became known within my school. I wouldn’t sacrifice my status for Natalie, I thought, but could tell the feeling of regret deeply within me.

trash lying around us. I could hardly believe that this was a place that I should be laughing in. Looking ahead of me, something caught my eye. In the busy city, a dark alley lay ahead of me. Something about it drew my attention; someone was luring me in. I left my family behind and walked up to the alley. I carefully stepped into the pitch-black street. The hair on my neck started to rise as I pushed deeper into the alley. It was cool and damp with a slight ozone smell to it.

Suddenly, I saw something in a shape that I could not form. As I walked closer I realized it was a cage. Heavy iron bars lined the enclosure and it looked as though it had been there for years. I gasped as I saw an animal lying in it. It was as still as stone and its outline in the dark was facing away from me.

I could not tell what it exactly was and shined a flashlight into the darkness. Shrieking with horror I jumped back. The animal was twisted, its body shrunken and disfigured.

Sorrowful but pleading eyes stared into mine and for a second recognition flashed in my mind. I looked wildly around the cage and saw a sign beside it saying “Do not feed.”

My fear melted away and sympathy took its place, spreading throughout me. How could someone do this? How could they just leave him here to rot? Do they not care? I had thought. A cold hand touched my shoulder and I turned around startled. The man was old and his eyes were glazed over. He’s blind, I noticed. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice hoarse and cold. Narrowing my eyes, I said, “You should pay attention to this animal; it’s withering away. Even a blind person could tell.” “Blind? Blind?” the man said with surprise in his voice. “YOU are the blind one,” he said cackling. I stood there as he laughed. “Blind, blind,” he wheezed through laughs. Soon I couldn’t take it anymore and ran as fast as I could from the madman, from the miserable animal, from the suffocating dark, and toward the shining street lights.

TRAVELLER

It was the night of my most vivid dream.

Laughter filled the air as I awoke into my dream. The laughter was mine, I realized, as the scene began to clear. My family and I were walking down a busy street. I tried to read the sign for the road that passed us but the words were blurry and distorted. Gazing at the street I could see the surroundings where we were walking, a dirty place with

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Art: Lexi Hanhauser

That day I could not focus on anything but my dream. The words spoken out of the man’s lips repeated over and over in my mind, “Blind, blind.” The sound of his voice haunted me. Shaken by my dream I remembered my therapist’s words, “Perhaps there’s a meaning to your dreams.” What could be the meaning of that horrible nightmare? As I pictured the dream, the eyes of the animal stood out to me. Why had they been so familiar, I wondered? Then it suddenly hit me: “Natalie,” I whispered. The animal’s eyes had been so similar to Natalie’s, full of pain and misery. “Blind, I am blind,” I repeated, realizing the man’s words had spoken the truth. I was blind to the right thing to do. Why had I thought that my social position mattered more than a human being? Guilt washed over me and I soon began to realize more of my dream. My confusion about my laughter in the dirty streets? That I could not be happy with my friends when such ugliness was being directed toward Natalie. The sign that said “Do not feed,” across the animal’s cage? The neglect and hatred for her by others. It seemed so clear to me now. How funny, I thought, that for my whole life, I perceived my dreams as a burden and concern. I didn’t know if I had made up my interpretations of my dream but knew that it had brought me awareness of my flaw. My vivid dreams aren’t a sign of imperfection, but a beacon of perception. Smiling to myself, I walked towards Natalie, her gaze quietly watching the streets. “What will I dream of tonight?” I wondered and for the first time, I didn’t worry.

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Rivers Whitney Quinn, ‘27

From a drop of rainfall to the sparkling sea, The source of life follows me.

Like a persistent puppy wanting to play, I give in and run to the Chesapeake Bay. A liquid story, abundant with its own complex history.

The melodic and rhythmic pace Sculpting wrinkles into mother earth’s face.

The water gently kisses my feet, and I wish to be swallowed whole.

Happy, sad, angry or scared, the water will clean my soul.

The river was there for many of my firsts.

The river will be there when I’m at my worst.

The river was there when I cried my tears.

The river will be here for all my years.

Photo: Kendall Quinn ‘24

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A Color of Hope Natalia Lutwama, ‘27

Amidst the chaos and the strife, There's one color that brings me life, It's like a warm embrace from home, A comfort that I've always known.

This hue of calm and peace, Is my safe space, my sweet release, Like a tranquil sea or a clear blue sky, It's the color that makes my worries die.

When I'm lost in a crowd, I seek this color out, It's my sanctuary, my retreat, A place where I can find my feet.

This color is my constant friend, A bond that will never end, It fills my heart with joy and glee, And sets my spirit free.

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Art: Helene Jung, ‘26

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A Piece of the Desert Rachel Verhey ‘26

T

he jarring scent of sagebrush astounded my nostrils, propelled by the light breeze in the southern Idaho desert on a late August afternoon. The blazing sun and heat glared down on me from the seemingly unbounded sky as I pulled down my sun hat. My back ached from the large, forty pound hiking backpack that gripped my slender eleven year old frame. With each step, the dry earth crunched beneath my ill fitting hiking boots, echoing in the vast emptiness that surrounded me. As I trudged along the dusty trail, I couldn't help but marvel and also scowl at the stark beauty and dryness of the landscape, its rugged terrain stretching out endlessly before me like an ancient tapestry woven by time itself. The dirt road seemed endless, going up and down hills and then plateauing down to a flat road with clouds of dust blocking its endpoint, if there was one. In the distance, I could see the shimmering heat rising off the flat area below, and turning behind me, I was in awe over the snow-capped mountains.

Despite the harshness of the environment, a strange sense of peace settled over me as I was now immersed in the raw, untamed beauty and reality of the Idaho wilderness.

I felt like I had hiked a hundred miles and the lukewarm water in my crusty Nalgene wasn’t helping. Finding a sheltered spot beneath a rocky overhang, I set down my backpack, stared into the horizon, and

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thought about the troublesome things that had brought me there. A lot of “what ifs” crossed my mind. The air was still warm, but I could feel the chill of the desert night creeping in, a reminder of the harsh realities of life in the wilderness. As I reluctantly consumed the bland quinoa the instructors had cooked for dinner and set up my flimsy tent, the silence of the desert enveloped me like a thick blanket, broken only by the occasional rustle of the wind through the sagebrush. The stars began to come out, pinpricks of light against the wide expanse of the night sky. I felt small and insignificant beneath their gaze, yet strangely connected to the ancient rhythms of the universe.

Sitting stubbornly away from my group of other adolescent female clients and young adult instructors a little ways away from the fire, I watched as the flames danced and flickered in the darkness, casting long shadows across the rocky landscape.

The smell of wood smoke filled the air, mingling with the scent of sagebrush and earth. I felt a sense of anger and regret come over me, highlighting my connection from the redness and harshness of the fire to anger in my childish brain. As I drifted off to sleep in the silent proclaimed campsite I felt a sense of accusation but also gratitude for the opportunity to experience the beauty and wonder of the

desert firsthand. At that moment, I realized that I was not in the driver's seat in my life. I couldn't do much about it, and this angered me deeply. The following morning, I awoke to the sounds of my instructors brewing coffee and the soft light of dawn filtering through the thin fabric of my tent.

Stretching out my limbs, I felt a sense of harsh realization wash over me, as if the desert itself had breathed my unreal reality of being placed into this wilderness therapy program into my weary soul. Frustrated, I took thirty minutes to pack up my frail one person tent, indulging in a third of a bag of gluten free granola and brown sugar, and I apathetically set out once again on the trail, to explore the mysteries of the wilderness that lay beyond, or maybe just hike up hills of dirt and tumbleweeds for ten hours. As I hiked through the desert, I respected the resilience of the plants and animals that made this harsh landscape home. From the redundant sagebrush that clung tenaciously to the rocky soil, to the common tumbleweed that darted across the dirt-stained hills and boulders, each creature and plant seemed perfectly adapted to its environment, a testament to the power of evolution and adaptation. As the day wore on, the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the desert floor, and bringing what felt like laser bolts of heat to my face and body.

My instructors told me to apply sunscreen to my face, not my full body, because the clothes we had available were dri-fit long sleeve shirts and black polyester pants. I hated and couldn't handle the feeling of the greasy, grimy, cold substance of sunscreen on my face at that time so as their gaze turned away from me I cleverly rubbed some deodorant on my hand and put it on my face, maintaining the white and thick look sunscreen had. I felt so adept, smart, and cool for tricking them. The heat was relentless, yet I pressed on, driven by the fear of disappointing my group and getting in trouble, but also by a sense of adventure and discovery. With each step in the hikes and experiences in the program, I felt myself growing stronger and more confident, as if the desert itself was testing my limits and pushing me to new heights.

By the time I reached the end of our hikes on the rest of those days, I was exhausted but exhilarated, my heart pounding with a sense of accomplishment. Looking out over the vast expanse of the desert, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for the experience and a newfound respect for the power and beauty of the natural world. As I continued the program and in years after, I carried with me memories that would last a lifetime, a reminder of the transformative power of nature, the importance of human connection and collaboration in the wilderness, and the therapy and growth I had experienced there. And as I gazed out at the endless expanse of sky and desert, I knew that I would always carry a piece of the desert with me, a part of my soul forever connected to the wild and untamed beauty of the world around me.

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Of Poetry Antonina Lubinska, ‘26

Oncoming When the sun feels closer, And the days are longer, When life blooms, And air feels like plumes, When it’s easier to breathe, And spring cometh, It’s just feels less depressing Like worries are fleeting.

The dark days are gone And you feel that spark The world is beaming with life And you wake up with the sun rise.

You want it to last forever.

It’s perfect weather.

The warmth of spring New life will bring.

Poker Face You don’t know me.

I don’t even know myself.

I try so hard to hide emotions Under the poker face.

This whole life feels like a race , Foolish games.

Can you teach me how to play?

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Trusted Friend Bonds hold us together And it feels like it will last forever, When I’m lost you scream my name And make sure I’ll find my way, When it’s dark you are like a light Always help me go through a fight.

Little Soldier Far away across the ocean You still look for me.

Do you blame me?

Do you hate me Just because I followed dreams?

Places that I used to visit Are they empty?

Are they worthless?

Smiles that I used to send Waiting for their shipment.

Please don’t blame me.

Please don’t hate me.

I will try to re-enter the path.

But I’m looking forward now.

And I feel this wind around.

I heard whisper from unknown That I won’t come back home.

Sound of Job The same people and routine Everything should be clean.

Paper has to be laid straight All work done before you ate.

Every time, day by day You wish you could get away.

You regretting this decision It was one of your best visions.

You feel very disappointed And you try to avoid it.

Today you have to go again Give a hundred percent.

Past Depths

Unknown

You have love but you cry.

Happy smiles but tired eyes.

Lost, alone among the people Full of ambition, empty inside.

I don’t know you anymore.

Now there is only war.

I try to get you off my mind.

You’re the one that tried to hide.

Try to escape from the darkness.

They’ll take you back regardless.

Miscellaneous but the same Labyrinth full of ways.

I was quiet when you spoke Did you take me as a joke?

We were close for a long time.

You used me and that’s a crime.

The walls are too high And you feel like you’re drowning down.

Someone extends a hand of help But you feel like you’re drifting away.

Now I just let you go Like a wind that just blowed.

Keep on moving, leave me here, Don’t come back, just disappear.

You let go of your soul.

The ordeals you experienced are gone.

You just feel like a sinner.

Now you’re twenty-one grams thinner.

Love Life

Sound of Your Mind Why do I have to think about it?

I don’t want to think about it.

It’s just going through my brain.

Makes me feel like I’m in pain.

Don’t know how to stop this feeling And I’m slowly disappearing.

People around all the time, Someone saying you’ll be fine.

I just want you to feel better.

But I just can’t put it all together.

What can I do for you?

Can you tell me what is true?

If you want to love Then love with all your heart.

If you want to fight Then fight with all your strength.

If you want to dream Then dream big.

You can be an inspiration For the people whom you love.

So keep fighting till the last days So they know That they also can.

Mine Our road crossed and I saw you But I didn’t have a clue That in future I’ll meet you And that you’ll become true.

Are you my nightmare Or the prettiest glare?

Your eyes are heavy blue And I think I love you.

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The Perfect Dive Martine Glymph ‘27

S

ummer is the time of year to try new things. You have no distractions and nothing to hold you back from taking that leap of faith. This year was going to be my year. Every summer since I learned how to swim, I have wanted to learn how to dive. I knew how to do a cannonball and a belly flop, but diving was a different story. Being able to dive was a skill I wanted to master, but just the thought of it scared me stiff. The feeling of falling head first with body falling behind did not sound pleasing. This is the summer I’m going to learn, I told myself.

I was two weeks into summer and I could not have been happier. My skin was sunburned, my hair was wet from the pool, and I was living outside. I was accompanied by my sisters Seana and Chris. We now sat on the back deck watching the sunrise, reveling in what we had done that day. The deck started to turn cold under my skin as the sun went down. I could see the clouds shifting and starting to uncover the moon. As the sun went down, my sisters and I could not help ourselves, and we decided to plan our adventures for tomorrow. I said, “We need to go to the pool again.” My sister Chris then said “Martine, this would be the second time in a row.” I complained “Please! I want to practice my dive! I have to learn by the end of the summer.” Seana piped up, “You’re not ready, Martine. Diving is complicated at your age.” I thought to myself, I was only ten! I am

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about to go into the 5th grade! I can do it and nobody is going to stop me. I made a deal with myself that night: I was going to know how to dive by the end of tomorrow.

The next morning I was ready. I hopped out of my bed, making a big noise as I rose up. I took a few steps to my closet and opened up the curtains. There were many bathing suits to choose from. I dug into my closet, and I threw clothes everywhere. I finally landed on my favorite navy blue swimsuit. I was satisfied with this choice. I packed a beach bag filled with sunscreen, sun glasses, a towel, and water. As I walked down the stairs to head out, I kissed my mom goodbye and told her where I was going. I waved at my sisters who were at the table eating their breakfast.

“Where is she going?” said Seana. I decided to ignore my sister and let her stay curious.

It was now time to start my journey to the pool. I walked outside my front door with a purpose. I had a plan and I was going to execute it no matter what.

My community pool was a three mile walk.

I thought to myself it was not bad, until after mile one. As I walked through the many different neighborhoods filled with kids playing, people mowing their lawns, and neighbors waving at one another from across the street, I was getting tired. I could feel the hot sun burning my skin through my tank top. My feet were aching from the sidewalk and the top of my head felt like a furnace. I

kept taking one step after another, reminding myself of what was ahead of me. I could not help but take multiple breaks. I took shelter under big trees with many leaves. The feeling of coolness and darkness made my breathing slow. As I looked around I noticed I was close to the pool. I could hear children laughing, loud splashes, and life guards blowing whistles. The noises increased continuously, until I saw the sign: Walden Glen Community Pool. My eyes went wide and a smile started to appear. I ran through the gate and headed straight to the pool.

It was finally time to enjoy what I had been waiting for. I had changed into my swimsuit and was ready. As I walked out from the changing room to the pool, the smell of chlorine overtook me. I placed my beach bag on a white rubber lawn chair. The waves from the pool were moving in a rhythm. They were crashing onto one another back and forth.

The pool was as clear as can be with the sun glistening on the surface. I had to squint because of how bright the sun was shining.

I then saw a few boys and girls swimming

and I waited for them to pass. As soon as the coast was clear, I held my nose and jumped in. I could feel the wind as I entered the pool.

The coldness of the water was overtaking my entire body. I felt a jolt of energy along with a sped-up heartbeat. When I came up for air, the breeze from the sky made me shiver. My body started to relax and I gained attention to my surroundings again. I swam back and forth from one edge to the other. I thought about my plan of action. I knew I had to start slow and work my way up to the perfect dive.

During my leisurely swim I was holding back from starting the process. I had a boulder in the bottom of my stomach weighing me down to the bottom of the pool. This fear was overwhelming. My heart started to race.

I could already see the disappointment and shame on my sisters’ faces as I came home from my failed attempt. This was not going to be an easy thing for me to overcome. I looked around the pool and life was going on around me. Everyone was having fun and enjoying their time away from work, school, and other stress-inducing activities. I noticed how everyone was carefree and not a single sign of

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sadness could ruin their smiles. I had to get over this fear no matter what. I was going to be brave and prove to myself what I could do.

I took a deep breath and went underwater one last time. As I came up for air, I felt reborn. I had a clean slate to work on. The feeling in the pit in my stomach had lessened and I had some hope. I felt I was swimming in slow motion as I went to the ladder. The cold metal touched my hands as I grasped the ladder. My hands being wet caused me to have to grasp hard and pull myself up. As I got up, the vibrant sun warmed my chilled skin. I walked over to the deep end of the pool and I noticed people had started to leave. I assumed it was around lunch time and they were headed for a break. I walked around the pool trying to find the best spot to start diving. I then spotted the place where I would spend the next two hours failing over and over again.

I made it to the spot and I felt ready. The spot was secluded from most of the other swimmers. It was the part of the pool that nobody went to because of the lack of sun and cleanliness. The trees made it so not even a peak of sunlight could come through. It almost felt like night time. I could still see the sunlight over the rest of the pool, but in my area, it was dark and it lingered over me.

There were also many leaves and trash that had been blown here by the wind. This was why nobody came over here.

After observing what I had to work with, it was time to start. I knew the mechanics of diving well. It was the part of executing that I failed at. All of the steps to diving were simple. You had to align your feet first with the edge of the pool. Next you had to put your right hand on top of your left and extend. Your arms should look like the tail of a swordfish, pointed straight. Throughout this process your back needs to be straight 44

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and shoulders tight. Finally, you have to let yourself fall in hands-first with your legs falling behind you. This part of letting myself go was my biggest challenge. I always ended up getting scared and swooping my feet first.

I never wanted to just let myself fall. I had no confidence that the water would make my landing smooth and easy.

I had made a promise with myself and I was not going to back down. This was my time to prove not only to my sisters I could do it, but also myself. Being able to achieve this goal was major. I had struggled over and over and now was the time I was going to know how to dive. This excitement drew me and my confidence was through the roof. I shook myself before I dove. I wiped my eyes and made sure I was ready for sure. I got into position and I could feel my heart out of my chest. Boom! Boom! The beat of my heart synced to my breathing. The feeling of choking up was near. To calm myself down, I took a deep breath and stared at my surroundings. Everything was the same. Life had moved on. There was no holding back now.

I put my hands up in the air and my body was straight like an arrow. I closed my eyes and I felt the quick swoosh as I went down into the pool. I quickly realized what I was doing and panicked. My feet came forward to break the fall and I was sinking down into the pool. I felt sadness and embarrassment. I realized this was not going to be as easy as I thought. Despair was creeping up, but I said “No!” I am not a quitter. I have come this far, so let’s keep going. I did this process over and over again. I kept jumping in and getting out, once again feeling defeated. This continued for about an hour. I probably looked idiotic from the naked eye. I was jumping in the same spot over and over again, while continuously trying to hype myself up. One last time I could try.

I decided to just stop overthinking and let my body take over. I got out of the pool and . by this time my hair was a mess, my whole body was pruny, and my eyes were bloodshot red. This is it; if I don’t get it now, I will try again next year. My hands were up, my body as straight as I could get it, and I let go. My head was falling first. It was a quick motion and I could feel my legs fall behind one after the other. My feet were pointed while I went straight into the water. I had done it! As soon as I came down fully, I was up and out of the water as soon as possible. I could not help myself but do it over and over again. I just kept diving in and out of the water. This feeling was something that can be described.

I felt as if I had climbed Mount Everist in a day. I felt like I made the winning shot in a basketball game. Everything I had gone through was worth it. I could not wait to show my sisters.

The pure joy I felt after each dive made time pass by even faster. When I looked around I noticed the orange haze that had been creeping in for some time. I knew it was close to evening. All of a sudden, I hear a loud whistle from the lifeguard chair. This signified that the pool was closed. I left that pool with such satisfaction. I ran over to the lawn chair where my stuff had been lying

for ages. I grabbed it and didn’t even bother changing into my non-wet clothes. I ran home in my wet swimsuit and barefoot. I did not care whatsoever. I just had one thing on my mind. I needed to tell my sisters the good news.

As I was running home, I was bursting with excitement. I kept running all three miles until I saw my white house with black shutters. I ran up the driveway dodging my parents’ cars. The screen door was luckily open, so I went straight through. The smell of spaghetti was in the air. Sizzling meatballs were being cooked to a crisp. I then saw my mom with an apron on getting ready to plate the dinner. This was going to be the most rewarding dinner. My mother greeted me with a hug, and I just now realized how hungry I was. All day at the pool had given me quite an appetite. My mom then started setting out plates and asked me to place a towel where I would be sitting. I was still wet from the pool and she did not want her wood chairs ruined. I hurried to the laundry room and grabbed a towel. I sat down quickly so I could enjoy my dinner. Sudden footsteps were then heard by my mother and me. Both of my sisters were scurrying down the stairs to dinner. I look at them with a wide smile; they are never going to believe what I had accomplished that day.

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Caribbean Dreams Celine Bush-Scott ‘28

In the land of turquoise waves and golden sands, where the sun kisses the sea each morning, I dance barefoot on the warm, powdery shore, my laughter echoing through the coconut palms.

The sky wears a crown of azure blue, Studded with fluffy cotton candy clouds, And the sun, oh the sun! It’s a juicy mango, Dripping its sweet nectar on my sun-kissed skin.

The sea whispers secrets in a melodic lilt, its waves caressing the shore like a gentle lover, Seashells and coral jewels peek from the sand, as if the mermaids left them just for me.

I chase after rainbow fish in the shallows, their scales shimmering like confetti in the breeze, And when the sun dips below the horizon, the sky blushes pink and orange, a tropical cocktail.

At night, the stars twinkle like mischievous fireflies, guiding me to hidden coves and moonlit caves, Where I weave stories with the spirits of the sea, and fall asleep to the rhythm of the coconut palms.

Oh, Caribbean! Your beauty is a sun-kissed dream, treasure chest of colors and flavors, And I, a fourteen-year-old girl with saltwater in my veins will forever dance on your shores, my heart forever yours.

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Turquoise waters whispering secrets to the palm trees, like BFFs sharing gossip. And guess what? I’m dancing barefoot on warm sands, my heart doing a little happy shimmy.

Yep, I’m a fourteen-year-old girl lost in the rhythm of the Caribbean.

Picture this: The sun wakes up, all bright and juicy, like a giant mango slice. It spills golden rays on sleepy rooftops, and I’m there, slurping up morning sweetness with sticky fingers. Oh, and the geckos? They’re playing tag, chasing their tails. Silly little adventurers!

The sea? It’s like an old friend, giving the shore the coziest hugs. Salty kisses on sunkissed cheeks! I wrap my arms around the horizon (yes, really!), and the sky blushes pink, just for me. It’s like a secret love note from the universe.

Okay, so the palm trees? They lean in, all mysterious and green. They’re like ancient storytellers, whispering tales of pirates, buried treasure, and mermaids. And get this—I press my ear to their rough trunks, and guess what I hear? The ocean’s heartbeat!

Nighttime magic alert! The stars? They’re swimming in rum punch, tipsy and winking at the moon. I make wishes on shooting stars, hoping they taste like coconut and dreams.

Because why not? Life’s too short for plain old wishes, right?

Hold up! Steel drums start playing, and suddenly I’m in a calypso daydream. The moon’s our spotlight, and I’m swaying my hips like palm fronds. Yep, I’m a mermaid (in my imagination), singing love songs to the tides.

The sun? It’s a mango on fire, painting the sky with fiery strokes. I watch the palm trees turn into silhouettes, like elegant dancers saying goodnight. And me? I wish I could bottle this moment—sunset, sea breeze, and all—forever.

Last secret: The wind carries whispers from distant islands. Pirate tales, mermaid lullabies, and hidden coves—it’s all in the breeze. I cup my hands to my ears, eager to listen. Maybe, just maybe, I’m part of the adventure too.

I’ll keep them all in my heart, forever fourteen. Because life’s an island, and we’re all just dancing to the rhythm of the waves.

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Art: Kaira Ivenso ‘26