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Words Work Wonders by Young Writers from

Idaho WrItIng Camps summer 2009

Words Work Wonders Selected stories and poems by Young Writers from Idaho Writing Camps

Summer 2009

Log Cabin Books 2009 Boise, Idaho

The publication of Words Work Wonders is made possible by generous support from the following:

Albertsons Boise Open Bank of America Foundation Boise Inc. Boise Weekly Idaho Commission on the Arts Idaho Community Foundation, East Idaho Community Foundation, Shelton fund Idaho Power Company Little Black Dress Club National Endowment for the Arts Steele-Reese Foundation Stoel Rives LLP Wells Fargo Foundation Words Work Wonders was designed by Creative Soapbox

Log Cabin Books is an imprint of: The Cabin 801 South Capitol Boulevard Boise, Idaho 83702 208-331-8000 www.thecabinidaho.org Š 2009 The Cabin All rights reserved. Printed and bound in the USA in an edition of 350 copies. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the publisher except in the context of reviews.

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On dark nights, When the moon is only A sliver, like the last piece Of pie, I flick on the switch, And it lights up the sky Like a firefly on a black night. Excerpted from "Ode to My Flashlight” by Alison Block, Grade 4

Her stories are sweet Smelling tulips. She told me everything. Excerpted from “Kindness” by Gabby Ross, Grade 5

I have an excuse for missing our wedding day. It’s a good excuse, too. Let me start by saying that I had every intention of showing up. Really, I did. Excerpted from “Better Than on Time, I Was Early” by Audrey Holmes, Grade 11

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Contents About The Cabin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii Foreword . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . viii by Paul Shaffer Acknowledgements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix Curious City . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Writing Wild! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121 801 Oasis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177 Words & Pictures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207 Writers’ Biographies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259 Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265

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ABOUT THE CABIN The Cabin (The Log Cabin Literary Center) incorporated as a nonprofit organization in 1996. Its mission is to inspire and celebrate a love of reading, writing, and discourse throughout Idaho and the region. The Cabin annually serves about 750 members, over 2,000 children and youth, and more than 30,000 people through educational and cultural programs. Programs for young people are the largest part of The Cabin’s work. The Cabin has transitioned from a young literary organization to a cultural anchor in Idaho. It serves diverse constituencies through: • Readings & Conversations, an annual lecture series bringing internationally-acclaimed literary figures to Boise • Writers in the Schools (WITS), placing professional writers in classrooms • Idaho Writing Camps, one of ten model arts education programs in the U.S. • The Idaho Writers Guild, a community of writers helping other writers to advance their craft • Literary activities such as writing workshops, readings by Idaho authors, and other programs for readers and writers of all ages. The Cabin is grateful to have a growing and loyal base of support, and enjoys a strong reputation for program achievements and services to our community. The Cabin’s administrative offices are housed in a restored log cabin, listed on the National Register of Historic Places, on the banks of the Boise River in downtown Boise. Three full-time staff and two part-time staff are supported by a strong membership and volunteer base. Its fiscal year begins in October. The Cabin is governed by a 24-member board of directors. The Cabin received The Governor’s Award for Excellence in the Arts in 2006.

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FOREWORD On one hand, young people are writing more than ever on cellphones and computers, on Facebook and on Twitter. On the other hand, we worry about whether they are developing the training in writing and reading, in communicating, that will carry them into successful careers and happy lives. The reports come at us from every front— reading by students is down, the writing skills of college freshman need remedial effort. So, if kids are writing to each other, and responding in turn, more than they have in decades, why the gap between their writing output to each other and what we ask of them in school? The Cabin’s school-year program, Writers in the Schools, addresses these challenges in a classroom setting, while the Idaho Writing Camps explore them from the perspective of our parks and wild outdoors, our museums and cityscapes. These programs share at least one answer to the question, which is to connect writing and reading to students’ lives, to their day-to-day experience. We tap into students’ own enthusiasms, their passion to be heard, to tell their stories in their own voices. Those stories and poems are captured here, a snapshot of where these students’ minds and hearts traveled, where their imaginations took them on the days they were with us at The Cabin during the 2009 Idaho Writing Camps. The Cabin’s teaching writers took their students on reading tours through the landscapes of contemporary and classic poems and short stories. When students’ footings were unsteady with figurative language, with diction, with line breaks, with sentence structure, our teachers acted as guides lending students the compass of their experience. But the heart of the stories, and the final words, are each student’s own. As you take your own walk through the landscape of their work, we hope you will recognize their distinct voices and points of view, hear the music of their language, sense the happy wish to share what is playful, and also what is special and deep within them. Paul Shaffer Artistic & Executive Director

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Acknowledgements Idaho Writing Camps touch the lives of hundreds young people each summer, due to the talents of writers, the generosity of funders, and the gifts from friends who volunteer at The Cabin. We are deeply grateful for the support of this year’s major sponsors, Barnes & Noble Booksellers and Creative Soapbox. In addition, funding was received in the form of grants from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Idaho Commission on the Arts. Further support from the business community came from the Albertsons Boise Open, the Bank of America Foundation, Boise Inc., Boise Weekly, the Idaho Community Foundation, Idaho Power, Little Black Dress Club, the Steele-Reese Foundation, Stoel Rives LLP, and the Wells Fargo Foundation, along with dozens of businesses that support our programs and operations through their membership with The Cabin. Scholarship funding is a valuable part of our work and service mission, making it possible for diverse constituents to participate in a unique camp experience. Many students benefited from scholarships that were given by individual donors through their membership with The Cabin and through other annual and special gifts. Thanks particularly to All About Offices LLC, America Inn Lodge & Suites, Gallatin Public Affairs, the Idaho Community Foundation, Idaho Power Company, Qwest Foundation, Stoel Rives LLP, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Wells Fargo Foundation and the Wood River Inn. Denise Baird, Darin and Ann DeAngeli, James and Christine Maxwell, Jeannie Peterson, Anne and Eric Spencer, and Trenton and Cheryl Tate. The Cabin’s Board of Directors provides encouragement and support for camps each year through their board service. We are grateful for their work on our behalf. Thanks to Bruce Ballenger, Karla Bodnar, Alex Davis, Mary Frazer, Mark Geston, Scott Gill, Joey Hale, Bev Harad, Maureen Harty, Alan Heathcock, Byron Johnson, Shannon Marshall, Stephanie Miller, Alan Minskoff, Don Reading, Henry Reents, Susan Rowe, Marsha Smith and Russell Stoddard. Each year, volunteers contribute tirelessly to the success of Idaho Writing Camps. Many thanks to our volunteers from summer 2009, including Laura Abbruzzese, Alison Allen, Christine Case, Samantha Christenson, Judy Christie, Jason Cudahy, Kathleen Fitzgerald, Susan Glave, Lauren Kolojejchick-Kotch, Vicki Malyurek, Hannah Moats, Samantha Nelson, Meighan Perry and Sheila Robertson. ix

And, to our friends throughout the state who helped us with venues and learning opportunities for Idaho Writing Camps, we extend heartfelt gratitude for their warm and enthusiastic welcoming of our young writers: True North Learning Center in Eagle, the Center for the Arts in Caldwell, the Botanical Garden in Boise, Sun Valley’s Center for the Arts in Hailey, The Art Museum of Eastern Idaho, the Fine Arts Center at the College of Southern Idaho in Twin Falls, Willard Arts Center in Idaho Falls, and the Foothills Learning Center in Boise. It is through the efforts of these friends and many others that we are able to share the power and rewards of the writing experience with the children and youth whose work appears in this volume. We acknowledge these gifts with deep gratitude.

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Curious City

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Becoming the Wind Ashley Alexander, Grade 8 Twin Falls I feel the smooth leather under my legs. I count her breaths as her sides rise and fall beneath my heels. I can feel her pulse beat against the braided reigns that hold me to her soft mouth. She pulls at the bit and dances in place like a ballerina. So I let go. Flying, that’s the only word. Like a rocket on her maiden voyage I feel fresh, free, and brand new to the world. We go on and on to nowhere and I see nothing but everything. We shoot across a deep blue sea of grass. Russian olive branches reach out as if to try and stop us. Thorns like talons leave cuts on my skin. We become a single being nothing can separate for the wind has fused us together. Like a blade and its hilt we are nothing apart but we are the wind together.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

Burning Summer Brooke Fitzgerald, Grade 8 Twin Falls Summer is in for a lot this year, it will burn what we have strived for. Sweat through the shells we hold of pretenses, skin, and broken bones. The scorching heat and desert winds cause mind and body to downward wind, while the ones who have yet to die wait for a cooler state of mind. In the depths of Autumn when temperatures fall, and time resumes its natural call, the people who have failed to die prance around in singing throes telling of summer’s joys and woes. But I say my friends, and listen well, there is always one boy or girl who will tell of how their Mother went walking one day, and the child stayed at home to play. The next time the mother was seen, her bones were parched, her flesh picked clean. Summer is a deadly thing, it wants to consume the life-spring of our young, our old, and middle-aged too. But next time I fear it might be you.

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The Rose Garden Byron Bearden, Grade 8 Littleton, CO Quiet, only the sound of the crackling water spread by the ongoing fountain, you see an ant dragging a leaf then another and another and you wonder why? The sweet scent of roses drifts through your nose, tingling the senses. You feel the old dry branches of an aspen, rough to the touch. A bird chirps in the background, and in the end all is at peace.

Ashes, Ashes John Williams, Grade 8 Twin Falls The sun beating down with the heat of a flame, there’s barely a sound in the garden by the stream. Posies flourishing in this light feel stronger after the landing of the bees. A posy with a stem tall and straight and full of bees brings even Superman to his knees. It has a charred core full of hidden darkness. People still adore the flower of seductiveness.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

The Conquerers Ian Mckenzie, Grade 9 Hailey I am the nose hair. I am the one who lives in your nose My brothers, sisters, and myself have an important role. We keep dirt from entering your lungs Yet you pluck us out with tweezers. But we will forgive you. My siblings and I just want to keep your lungs safe And if you pluck us, we will not hate you, But we’ll be back, eventually. So pluck us while you still can Because one day, when you are an old one, You will not be able to fight us. And when we take over, we will not be pretty. We will be long, gray, and unattractive, So be prepared, for you might not have long.

Hear My Cries Samantha Ruggles, Grade 7 Twin Falls Listening closely in the darkness to the sound of the dove above him. He is in pain, crying to his beloved Father. The warm redness ran down his face and body. I feel sorrow, why is this man going through this pain, being nailed to me. He is whispering fast to someone he calls “Father”. I cry and whisper, “It’s going to be alright,” yet no words or tears come out.

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Comma, Shanna Madsen, Grade 8 Twin Falls Watching as that slick wisp of sheet rolls by. Wanting and dreading as the days get longer and his life gets shorter. To his pale body, no more life or vividness, it disappeared with his heart’s beat. He wished it would all just end. No more pain, no more waiting. What if the step hadn’t happened at all, would he still be in this predicament? He hated his big life, big house, big family, with big problems. His last idea of his life was the worst solution to his troubles, how he would miss things dearly. But with that this six year old,

Dragonflies Torrin Mckenzie, Grade 7 Hailey Gracefully they fly through the air, their colors glistening a green or blue. Swiftly they dodge incoming bushes or trees. Their wings are a blur as they soar in the sky. Their big beady eyes seem to always be watching us.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

Missing Him Emily Peters, Grade 9 Eagle Rain spattered against the large window in the room. A window seat occupied with the only person in the house. She was staring out into nothing, a small photo clutched in her delicate hands. Locks of blonde hair framed a face that was covered in tears. She clutched the photo tighter in her hands and soft blue eyes looked down onto a piece of paper that shown a stern man. Another fresh wave of liquid fell down the angel’s cheeks as she balled herself up, rain seaming to thunder against the empty house.

Pyro Dime Scar Spencer Hampton, Grade 8 Eagle One day I was hanging out with my friend Joey and we decided to go to Ace Hardware to get a snack after we got fireworks. Then I saw a cool wrench lighter so I decided to buy it for the fireworks. Later that day at home I was lighting stuff on fire (I made sure the fire didn’t get too big or damage anything important), but then the fuel ran out cause it wasn’t supposed to last very long—it was refillable. So I grabbed the family lighter. I got a piece of plastic that broke off a container and melted some of it, but it dripped on my foot and gave me a burn about the size of a dime. It’s smaller now because it’s healing up. Today the lighter is broken –what a ripoff, I just got it last week—and is no use anymore. The burn has not fully healed, and I’m more cautious about what I burn and where I burn it.

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The World is Not Here Tori Dresser, Grade 9 Boise The air was so bright outside, no doubt a summer afternoon. But she, looking withered and old, locked herself inside her suddenly vacant house. All windows were covered by blackout curtains. She hadn’t used them in decades. Inside it was dark as an underground cave. The only light radiated from a crackling fire in the hearth. Her pruney hands gently pulled another photo from its gold frame and tossed it into the raging red beast. A young couple in the picture started to singe as more ashy smoke rose into the air.

Oil is Only a Curse Megan Marie Saathoff, Grade 8 Eagle She stood at the base of a mountain. Her hair was long and dark. She wore little, only rags covered in dust, much like the rest of her. She knelt down and began to move the sand drifts away from the sheer drop face. Her eyes moved from point to point without changing expression. Her muscles were tight and her knees slightly bent. She finished the moving of sand and squared herself to the rock face. Her knees bent and she sprang like a kitten on a toy. She grabbed on like a lizard and began to climb up and up. She reached an obscure lump on the cliff and reached out her dark spindly arm and seized it. She pulled and pulled until the front of it ripped off. Bees of enormous size swarmed around her. There were so many that she became nothing but a massive blob of buzzing. Then she fell back through the bee cloud twisting and turning and landed with a soft thump. Sand rose into the air. In her hand was an enormous chunk of honeycomb. She sat down cross-legged and began to eat hungrily.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

The Sane, Happy Woman Payton Mitchell, Grade 7 Emmett Frances Jones sat alone in her living room. Pictures of people were ripped or torn. Frances stared blankly at a big, plastic French doll. She grabbed the doll. She began to hug it. “Best friend,” she cooed. Then she threw the doll out the window. It landed in the rose bush that had only thorns, no roses. Frances screamed like she was being murdered. Then she sat down trembling. Her face was stern and blank again. Then she asked a vase a person question. “Will you be my best friend?” When the vase just sat there, she screamed and pulled a big tuft of dark hair out by the roots. She made a growling sound and tossed the vase against a wall. “I need a friend,” she yelled. Then she sat down and held her telephone on her lap. She dialed the number of an ex-friend from 7th Grade. After a fight they weren’t friends anymore. When she said, “Hi,” her friend hung up. Frances screamed and lit the phone on fire in the fireplace. She fell to the floor weeping. She tore a chunk of carpet off the floor and cried herself to sleep. When she woke she was on the kitchen table with a rose in her hand. She smiled, hugged the rose, and passed out on the table.

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The Scar on My Leg Chas Cesare, Grade 8 Eagle I was walking along in the park one spring morning, admiring the view. No one else was around. I was about to sit down on a bench when the bushes nearby rustled. I looked around, when suddenly a man dressed all in black and carrying a remarkably shiny knife sprang out from the bushes. “Your money or your life!” he shouted. I pulled out the sword that I always keep hidden on my person. My would-be assailant backed away and dropped his knife. “Oh, I thought you were someone else,” he said thickly. “Ha ha.” Then he proceeded to run away. I sheathed my sword and started to walk away when I tripped on a small stone. I fell down and accidentally nicked my left leg on the knife my assailant had dropped. Eventually, that cut developed into a scar. When I look at it, I always remember not to trip on rocks when knives are nearby.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

I Am Was a Snail Nena Gallegos, Grade 7 Meridian My feet melt from underneath me. My stomach, curves and turns, into goo. My head squishes. my skull, gone. My ears, move and stretch, to stick out, dangerously from my head. I feel my back, grow hard and cold, and I feel the slime, wrap around me, hold me, and protect my shriveled body. I am green goo, dirty and muddy. For my beauty, is my shield, brown and speckled,

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shining in the sun. I roll my useless legs, I use my loving slime, to leave a path, for people to treat, as grime. I push the blood to my head. I use the blood, the raw power it gives to move forward an inch. I am triumphant and confident, and then, I am gone. Shattered shell and green goo, is on the floor, and on a shoe.

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Notice Carmella Nichols, Grade 8 Boise dead end sign perfect rows of trees until two babies break the pattern bright red the newly painted fire hydrant gray cement just like every other only overshadowed by the huge spread of the cottonwood that first drops sticky then soft then crunchy then to our relief is over a curved gray cement path hedged by green cooled fire on the other side in the middle a small tree a tiger’s favorite perch while sweet soft velvet stretches in the shade the hedge ends abruptly almost shockingly and there is another tree one now laden with orange fuzzy fruit that will later be barren two steps not only washed in rain but tears and then safety in the small square of shelter then there’s the door the golden knob with the color dulling the key hole that so often resists the turn of the green and white key the door itself with the rubber falling off that you can only see when the door is open the chipped dull blue paint then the knob is turned and you enter and you enter a different world.

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4022 Christine Kaitlyn Curnow, Grade 7 Boise Heading past the school bell Which rings at 3:15 I toddle down the road a bit And then cross the street Heading down the sidewalk Which will lead me to my home. I see the green street signs Which often make me groan. Headed down the sidewalk still I see seven of these Each one named Buckingham Until Edna street. Then I see the mailbox, Also green, Marking the turn into the driveway And the need to use my keys.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

Bones Abby Egan, Grade 9 Meridian I am the bone and I hurt to break. Do not leave me for I fear to fall Through the skin and to the dirt. To be buried or chewed to be rough or polished like new. Give me your milk and I will smile. I frame your skin. Time is my only graveyard. Now I am dust. I sift around your remains, Lying coffin side by coffin side. Sitting precariously tossed throughout the bed. Dispersing, dispersing To the earth Until I am truly dead.

Aspen Kyle Ashby, Grade 8 Boise Tall, slender trunks as white And creamy as vanilla ice cream. Rough brown eyes watch from Their place on the up growing body. Branches stretch high into the Sky, like a rocket soaring Into space. Leaves as green as newly picked Spring peas flutter as the wind Runs through the forest.

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Pull Open the Door Bella Pratt, Grade 9 Boise Pull open the door, and watch your step. Reach it and grab it, your true love, your own true love. Lay it on the bed, and stare at it longingly. It is Waldo, a misfit, the planet within the stars. Try it on for size, waiting, wishing, hoping. Still the same; nothing changed. Slip it off as you dream of the places you could have worn it. Dream as you think of all the things you could have done with it.

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Home Lauren Day, Grade 8 Boise Stepping in to the sunlight Finally escaping the long car ride Walking up the drive Past the dead flowers Overwhelming new paint burns my nose Going up the sidewalk Tumbleweed crackling across the yard Scratching my legs as it goes by Reminding me of past years. I take one more look at my neighborhood Taking in old friends’ faces And new ones I would soon meet. The sun burns the back of my neck I look at all the drained swimming pools I see an abandoned ice cold glass of water, Perspiring in the extreme heat. I turn back to the house. I reach out my sweaty shaking hand and Turn the knob. I step inside. It is clean, empty. Just as I left it.

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Anger Madison Resue, Grade 7 Meridian Anger at love. Anger at hatred. Anger at falling apart. Anger at death. Anger at enemies. Anger at friends. Anger at differences. Anger at the people who point them out. Anger at fear. Anger at goodbyes. Anger at cigarettes. Anger at novels. Anger at the things I can’t do. Anger at opposite. Anger at perfection. Anger at beauty. Anger at love.

Darkness Wong Young, Grade 5 Boise Once I looked inside the darkness Eyes watched my every move Water dripped from the top of the cave drip . . . drop. . . drip. . . drop the cavern walls are slick and hard a dead bat laying on the ground like a sleeping possum The dead silence of the dark, moist cavern drip . . . drop. . .drip. . . drop

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Words Work Wonders 2009

Colored Memories Taryn Hadfield, Grade 7 Meridian What if blue meant Solitude Daydreaming Imagination Creativity? Sitting in speckled shade, Staring at a perfect cerulean sky, Daydreaming. What if red meant Speed Agility Passion Standing out? Sprinting alone, Racing against A burgundy sunrise. What if green meant Exploration Truth Organicality? Shipping in the pattering rain Inhaling Sprigs of crisp, fresh mint. What if orange meant Happiness Familiarity Excitement? Gliding on a rope swing In a caressing breeze And the tangerine sunshine. What if black meant History Wisdom Classic? Pointing to the constellations At indigo midnight,

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Embraced in the cold arms of a dead tree. What if white meant Peace Birth Silence? Laying in the elegant Lace of snowflakes In December.

Silhouette Graham Ashby, Grade 9 Boise Searching through overgrown Gardens. A perfect silhouette Stands by herself. Looking Towards the life she never had To be free and have two legs Not just metal rods with wheels. Her identity is lost. No longer A beautiful, flawless woman. Instead, a torn heart. A torn piece of her own. She closes her eyes with longing. Longing to see his face. Oh how The sun reflected off his Pale skin. His blonde hair Tousled in the summer breeze.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

Dreams of Day Erin Feeley, Grade 7 Boise Endless hours of nothing but thought. As you put your head on your pillow of sky blue, You begin to yearn for the blessed sky of blue full of marshmallow White clouds and lemon colored sun. Then you start wondering what day Will bring. Consider the possibilities. A youthful voice in your head begins to chat. Suddenly you can’t take it any more, You feel an irresistible need for day. The lime juice grass, the delicate flowers, The feeling that you must hear the song of the flying cherry red and midnight birds.

A Blessed Tree Elise Lewerenz, Grade 7 Boise May children climb up your branches, And giggle and laugh until dusk. May the breeze tickle your trunk And rustle your leaves. May the earth surround your roots, Hugging them close like a loving mother. May water reach you to nurture your limbs And feed your hunger. May the sun’s bright rays touch down to your leaves, Making them glow like candles. May you stand tall in your forest, A soldier protecting his people. May you feed off our water, Grow on our land and Be loved by our people.

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On Display Julia Homaechevarria, Grade 8 Boise Looking for you Looking for me I search even the places I know are empty. My eyes don’t see. I listen but don’t hear. The only truth seems to be given through the mirror. I don’t know where to go, but know I am not staying here in this silent chaos. I am not like the others, they show them dark, deep. It is clear, with them you see What they want to show you. But I have a happy face. It seems shallow with no depth or meaning. But maybe they are wrong. I see them pass by without mention of me. If they were the ones on display they would know.

Midnight Raeh Stark, Grade 8 Boise The midnight sky covets me A whisper of a sparrow overheard Disappear in the silver mist Zap of lightening colors the sky Eye of a lost girl imprinted in my mind I hear the cry of a wolf, The tear of a girl dripping down her cheek.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

Hunky Dory Here We Come Mariah Madden, Grade 8 Boise I see the sign, Welcome to Hunky Dory as the car Wheels start to bump up and down on the rocky road. The softball field looks as green as ever as many Memories flash through my head. The sign, Slow Children at Play comes up next Which I laugh at, thinking it needs a comma after slow. The lodge and ice cream shop are empty, That only happens on the first day. The cold lake sparkles in the sun and the lounge Chairs, surrounded by blowup tubes and The playgrounds are empty, again, only on the first day. We continue the bumpy road, passing many cabins Waiting for ours, I see the one that always has People playing the card games on the front porch. As we pull up, the ground is dirt and small patches of dead grass. Opening the creaky door, seeing the holey couch I think, “Oh! How perfect. It’s all mine but just for a week.” Robert’s Roost, my cabin, my home away from home.

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Translation Sophie Myers, Grade 8 Nampa When a blue top is a sad thought Our outlook will change On continuous methods of communication. The ways of language have contorted so much That when someone says thank you They want you to come home soon. Stop is I don’t care. Our interruption of like in a sentence Is Wow, For humans are re-grasping the fact of life Mad is conflicted and Children are now experienced Thick overflows While lemonade could be written On Hallmark cards Sent to graduates or just-married couples The It could be making a life-changing decision.

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A View from the Upper East Side Hannah Smay, Grade 9 Garden City The sky is getting lighter, I see Although the street is shadowed By apartment buildings That reflect the rising sun Even through its veil of smog. The orchestra of delivery van brakes And taxi horns complement the vendors Wheeling about and calling to one another In that cinematic Italian accent. I watch as the sidewalks become filled With black suited businessmen and Gucci toting women, precariously clicking Their heels onto grates as they Adjust their saucer sunglasses. A teenager barrels out of an apartment Building and tightens his tie underneath The private school uniformed blazer He hails a taxi As a passing bus leaves him in a cloud of exhaust.

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“she stands in the wind briefing” Jolene Fitzwater, Grade 5 Boise she stands in the wind briefing herself she is about to face the world with a scarf tied around her head she closed her eyes and takes a deep breath her eyebrows relaxed her shoulders down and her hands behind her back twisted together she is strong with a vibrant orange colored dress and a scarf around her waist blowing in the wind she is not afraid – two people stand behind her wearing vibrant blue and orange head dresses they are preparing themselves to face the world like a weak bird just hatched from an egg, she is vulnerable to the world and everyone in it.

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Dock Katie Hilburn, Grade 5 Boise I hear a bubbling brook whispering secrets to the fish below. I hear birds singing songs to the quiet trees. I hear flies buzzing to the wads of cotton that softly fall. I smell wet leaves that cripple and crunch. I smell sweet sap sticking and slurping. I smell thick bark tough and tender. I see small fish murmuring to bugs. I see water-skippers skimming the water. I see clear water calling all creatures to swim. I can’t hear, see and smell everything in nature but I know it is all peaceful, wonderful and beautiful.

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Penny Hyonoo Joo, Grade 5 Boise Go inside a penny that would be my way. Let somebody else be a dollar or the amazing Agent P. I like myself this way. From the outside a penny is worthless, but inside it’s worth a lot. Though someone throws it on a street, even though it gets lost, it will find its way into the right hands and be saved everyday. I’ve seen hundred dollar bills in between a wallet. I am very special in every single way. Wise ones will save me and others will learn.

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Tikana, Alone Simone Miglioni, Grade 6 Boise WANA WANA? WHASHA HAO UNA UNA! WHERE WHERE KUNA NUMA ALONA ALONA RIPERANAHOE RIDEAWANA SAKANAHOW GRIMERIPANKAKA SIKA NOWA? WHASHA HAO UNA-UNA! TIKOW HANA-HANA WHERE NELAHO SIKA NOWA? WANA WANA? Where where? Come back to us! Back again Back again people family Sad sad Cold Hungry Thirsty Only a horse Did you go? Come back to us! We need you Back again Help Did you go? Where where?

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Stick Cody Kim, Grade 6 Boise Go inside a stick That would be my way. Let someone else be money Or pet a fuzzy panda. I am happy to be a stick. From the outside the stick is a riddle, No one knows how to answer it. Yet within, it must be stiff and still. Even though a dog may chew on it, Even though a person throws it; The stick flies, swiftly, feelingless To the bottom of the grass Where birds come to land on it And sit. I have seen sparks come out When two stones are rubbed, So perhaps it is not dark inside after all; Perhaps there is a sun shining Inside the stick’s bark A stick is a stick.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

“Once I looked inside the darkness� Julius Kim, Grade 4 Boise Once I looked inside the darkness I see dark covering me The walls stare at you mysteriously I sense something In the dark With no light in my sight The floor is slippery With lots of stairs In the house The mysterious dark spirits Following you in the dark in the house Like a ghost

Seaman Sam Cole, Grade 5 Boise You stood in the front of the boat. Seaman was a dog, black as a gun barrel. A dog with floppy ears. He was not like any normal dog, he was a human. Seaman loved Lewis and Clark when they were on the expedition. Seaman was a courageous dog. I wish Seaman would have lived. Seaman caught deer, bears and beavers and a lot of other stuff. Seaman was like a fish going upstream. Seaman was a happy and loving dog. Seaman also liked being on a boat and a canoe. Seaman died of drowning. Seaman was a great dog.

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Cave Flowers Grace Kindall, Grade 5 McCall Once I looked inside the darkness of a cave folded like a butterfly’s wings and there was a beautiful blue flower One single flower all alone in that great big cave. It turned its face away from me And looked at the cave walls to hide its face from the rest of the world and me.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

The Dock Ben Seabourn, Grade 4 Boise I see the leaves the winding road the river which is smooth green and elegant I smell I smell The decaying wood of the dock the dock the dock the dock I smell the river and its faint gurgling I smell pollen from the great trees which have shiny leaves I smell nature nature nature I see trees in nature nature nature Nature is waiting at the dock the dock the dock the dock

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Screw Driver Anna Jussel, Grade 5 Boise You see a simple tool where I see a bridge to a whole new world. A world of wood and screws; a peaceful place made of simple things, where a challenge is like receiving a present, where a screw can mean so much, a sliver of wood can be so wise, where we fix things and break things and don’t get mad. We learn from our mistakes, solve problems and don’t complain; that’s who we are and that’s what we want to be, so don’t look at me like a worthless tool, because I am a bridge to a whole new world.

Baroness Kate Clea McElwain, Grade 4 Boise You stand there quiet and elegant. Your cheeks are rosy red. Your hair is like golden honey. The smile on your face is pretty as a posy. Your hat is elegant with that bent part and the rosy pink ribbon that ties under your chin and those beautiful little puffs on your hat. The curls that hang down are pretty. The dress you wear matches your hair. I wish I could look at you closer but I cannot. I think you should have a cat to entertain you on dreary days. The brown bow looks as beautiful as your face. You are quiet, elegant.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

“At last Boise you are crying, I don’t know if it is for joy or sorrow. . .” Alexis Rigby, Grade 5 Boise I went to the corporate fountain. I saw water dripping off the rocks I saw lily pads in the mossy water I saw blue sky I thought of a Saturday morning and you have to get up early In the alley I turned into a stone lion I used to walk into fine restaurants and dine until dawn But now I am the center of everyone’s stares I used to chase the butterflies But now they chase me as I am unable to swipe my paw and shoo them away Boise, why was I chosen to be a stone lion You were erupting in tears the proud water splashes in the air as if someone had thrown an anchor into the sea, there is a soft hissing as the water smacks down on the concrete, the people in the Zone Bar and Grill are gaga as they wait for their delicious meals to arrive. Suppose nothing happens in the world but this spinning wheel Suppose a child climbs upon it and takes a ride Suppose I stop my carriage and take a look Suppose moss is the reason for its slimy green color Suppose all the tubes and pipes don’t help at all it does it all by itself

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But I didn’t listen so I became a fish I used to walk with my wife by the sea But now I swim in it I used to smile and laugh But now I just pace back and forth back and forth Boise, I need to take a shower But things were falling apart I saw trees on the roof I heard a motorcycle whizzing by I felt sticky and sweaty Boise, why am I a crack? Boise you are crying for joy, you are happy for your fountains.

It’s 4 a.m. in the Park Lauren Britton, Grade 4 Eagle It’s 4 a.m. in the park when all the bees buzz, the seagulls are flapping then I hear the most wonderful sounds. Not the fountain, not the wind, but music, beautiful music made by raccoons, hummingbirds, and fish. Wonderful music, I start dancing, spinning, running, twirling then I fly thanks to the birds and bees. I fly over the mountains past my house out of Idaho and back. Then I see the geese dancing, swaying to and fro. The fountain is flying and the water is dancing, but the best thing of all is that I saw this, the best day of my life. Now all of this has been going on for an hour. Now it’s 5 a.m. The fun is over or so I thought. That’s when an alligator on roller skates comes out with food, and we eat. A shooting star comes out then bursts into fireworks. When it was over I was sad, but I will remember it well.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

If I Close My Eyes Delaney Vatcher, Grade 4 Star Once I looked into the darkness And covered my ears. I heard my heart beating In my chest and my muscles popping when I moved them. All I saw was darkness. All I heard were those noises. Then I opened my eyes and uncovered them and let the sounds Return to my ears and I heard cars driving, People talking and the water rushing by. Then I lay down in the sun. Once I looked into the darkness, I saw The sun coming through my eyelids and the blood rushing Through. The colors red, orange and tan flashed Before my eyes. If I squinted I saw a green strip As if the grass was reflecting the sun to my eyes. I unplug my ears and open my eyes. It is the same again.

I, The Bridge Victoria Duff, Grade 5 Meridian I am the bridge, made in 1911, My years and years have been like heaven. I’ve had haters and lovers walk across my planks, people that are white, people that are black. Children and mothers walk across on me, so do singles who want to be let be. I remember some times feel like yesterday, but others seem centuries away.

Curious city

Onion Carly Werdel, Grade 4 Boise I am an onion People treat me as food But inside I have a heart That cares for others I have skin that people peel off It hurts though I don’t cry People cry when they see me Are they sad to kill me Or do they not like to cook? When I am chopped up I get put into soup I get heated until my Pieces are squishy I get served into a bowl And then the spoon comes in I am in my owner’s mouth And now, goodbye, here I go

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Words Work Wonders 2009

A Squirrel Called Quinn Jack Goltry, Grade 5 Boise Once upon a time, there was a squirrel named Quinn. He was in a tree when he saw a group of kids. Quinn decided to follow them. As he was following them, he saw a tree stump. He went to investigate. Quinn dug a hole under the stump and to his surprise, it collapsed. Quinn followed the kids once again up a flight of steps to a mysterious place with talking boxes. He went up to one and pushed a button. It said, “Look at the lines on the concrete.” Quinn went up to an open door and found himself in a cold room. When he got out of the room, he found another door with a bunch of wires and circuitry. Quinn fell out and into some cotton. He stood up and nearly fell off a bridge. He ran across a log to get to the other side of the river. Quinn got into a trash can and was driven away by a trash truck. He saw the kids walk away as he was carried away.

Lion Dallin Gregg Hodgkin, Grade 4 Boise Facts: They live in east Africa. They eat meat, in their free time they rest. A long time ago there were no lions. A boy was trying to invent lions. He was very smart. One day he came in his room and turned on the light. It didn’t work. He went to his work. It was damaged. He heard a growl. He looked behind him. A lion was running about to hit the boy. The boy jumped out of the way. The lion had had babies. Before the boy died he told his parents about the lion. One day a hunter caught the lion. The parents had told the police about the lion. So they named the animal lion. And that’s why we have lions today.

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Kuna, Idaho: A True Story Nathan Burr, Grade 4 Boise Kuna used to be a flat, sandy desert. The building there was a hotel. Travelers would come through and eat breakfast, change horses or spend the night. Kuna was Indian for “The End” because of all the snakes. People needed a faster way to get through. So, people started a program. Work on the railroad and get two acres of land. Less than a hundred accepted. There were only seven kids and one tiny little tent. Many people died from sickness and overwork. Soon, the railroad was finished. Everyone celebrated and plants, crops and more began to sprout! Everyone was happy until the rabbits came. In about a month, a rabbit hunt started. People were also running low on water, too. They were very bad times indeed. A couple of years passed. Farmers began digging canals and planting more crops. More people moved in, they were called homesteaders. They made their houses out of stones, used mud for the glue. The children started working, they could pull a weed. They gathered sagebrush and tumbleweeds for the winter. Later there were too many kids to fit in one tent, so everyone got to building schools. The elementary school was built on Rattle Snake Hill (where the Snake River School was built). The high school was built uptown. Bad things began happening to the schools and the students. First, the elementary school caught on fire! Then the high school got old and fell apart literally. All that’s left of it is the gym. You can still go in there today! Soon, buildings began to appear and more people showed up. Good people, and bad people. One hundred years ago, or more, there was a murder at a bank. One day a man with his son went to the bank to make a major withdrawal. He went in and shot the banker. Some people say his ghost haunts the US Bank. Others say his son accidentally shot him. Nobody really knows for sure! Today I can prove to you that all this is true. Go to Kuna and check out the railroad or go to Grandpa’s Attic. You will see a hole. That was where a ticket booth to the movies was. Look around a few neighborhoods and spot the old houses! You might even see a homestead shack. I hope you enjoyed this story. Good-bye and have a great day looking around Kuna!

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Words Work Wonders 2009

Midnight Ann Lawrence, Grade 5 Boise The loneliest hour is midnight, everyone is asleep. You’re scared of the dark, and the only company you get is your cat that jumps on your bed, and you wake up. Your cat meows, and you sigh. You hear noises outside your window. It’s the furious, big and bad raccoon. Your eyes are wide open. You can’t sleep, but what comforts you is your loving, cute, little kitty. It lays on the other pillow looking at you and you scoot the pillow closer. You can see your cat’s glow-in-the-dark, bright yellow eyes. You hear a soft meow, and you feel your cat huddle into the blanket, and the fur tickles you, when you feel it turn around, and it pokes its cute little, kitty head out of the blanket. And you and your cat huddle into the blanket too, until the cat’s tail is all the way into the blanket. And you and your cat fall asleep, and the last thing you hear is “Prrrrrrr…”

Tiger Sarah Miller, Grade 6 Eagle Gracefully prowling across the ground watching, waiting. Its fiery orange with pitch black striped body is enough to send chills down the toughest human’s back. It seems as though its gigantic paws are going to break through the glass any second. But that’s the thrill of watching the tiger.

Curious city

The Fish Playing Frisbee Trystin Thomas, Grade 4 Boise I tried to teach a fish how to play Frisbee. It worked! Yes it did. All I did was I cut out a mini Frisbee and threw it in the water. My fish caught it in its mouth and threw it right back out! So we practiced all year round, so we could win the fish Frisbee competition. We won! That’s the truth! But now my fish got stolen, and I am so lonely and sad. My fish had a talent, no others had. I still have her Frisbee, her prize trophy too, but what I don’t have belongs to you.

The Bridge Ashley Xu, Grade 5 Boise I am the bridge. I was born in 1911. Even though I am old, I still stand today. A river runs under me, but I don’t mind. Everyone is welcome to walk on me, I feel happy on the inside. Kids, I love the most. They run, they shout, they dance all around. They never give me a gloomy day. Adults however, I like them too. They walk, talk, jog, or bike. They make me so calm and peaceful. I am red, I have some railings that are silver. I am tall, I am wide. For all the years in the past, I still last. I remember many people of all ages and sizes have walked on me before. I am happy I was born as a bridge.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

Ode to the Red Zinnia Scierra Clegg, Grade 6 Ammon Oh dear zinnia in the bright sunny day I find you here in the park. Why are you red? Did you always like the color red? If you could be any other color what would you be? Rose, blue, violet, turquoise, yellow or possibly white? When I see you in the morning, you give me a feeling of happiness. Like when I play with new-born puppies or hold a new-born baby. Your smell isn’t strong. It is very light and sweet. Did you choose to be planted here? And if you didn’t, would you move? Do you have any friends with the other

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zinnias? Are you pure enemies? Dear red zinnia I like your color I like your place and I like your feeling. You must be having a great day.

This Is Just to Say Paige Anderson, Grade 4 Shelley I’m sorry I’ve given you too much cat food. The bag was just too heavy, and your bowl was so small. I just couldn’t pour the right amount. That should last you until next month.

How the Earth Goes to Sleep Jack Carmack, Grade 6 Idaho Falls First the people get into bed then the animals retreat to their burrows and the houses close their shutters and the grass lays down and finally the earth can sigh and lapse into sleep.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

This Moment London Swenson, Grade 5 Idaho Falls The river. It rushes. Crows call to each other. Pine cones fall helplessly from the trees. Ducks quack in the cool breeze of the morning. Squirrels hop from branch to branch. The warm sun shines down on my head.

Ode to a Waterfall Phillip Thompson-Aue, Grade 8 Idaho Falls Oh waterfall, how can you be so beautiful? You have an everlasting glory vapor rising foam bubbling and the water calming down past the bottom. You are mighty and powerful, inspiring, yet frightening. I just hope that I won’t fall with you.

Curious city

This Moment Madelyn Verdoorn, Grade 6 Idaho Falls The river. At noon. Things are shifting. Ducks are floating, drifting. Logs, big and small, coast down and down. It happens. Now and forever. I can hear the falls splashing. This is the river. Appreciate it.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

Instructions to the Artist Madeleine Coles, Grade 7 Rigby I wish to have an oval head with a chin both round and pointed. I wish to be painted with oil paint, so as to be perfectly smooth. At the same time, make me rough and natural. My eyes should be electric green with wide, large pupils. Like a baby’s eyes, they should be immense and watery. My nose should be soft and small, as if you were imagining the petite nose of a petite princess. My mouth shall be small, though my lips should be round and plump. Make my body an hourglass figure. The top and bottom should be fat with a one-inch waist. Paint my jeans with marker drawings on them, and give me a ratty t-shirt. As for the background, a small family of wolves would be my preference. If you paint the wolves, they should be jumping up and down, and their fur should be pink with purple polka dots. My face is to be leathery and tanned. My hair is to be highlighted three shades of brown. Lastly, I wish for you to sign your first name on the bottom of my left leg, and your last name on the bottom of my right leg, so your name will serve as my feet.

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River Jacelyn Wedman, Grade 6 Idaho Falls The river. In mid-morning. A strong current pulling itself along. One, two, three, four ducks swimming. No purpose. No destination. Logs floating along, pulled by the current. The waterfall is a lion with a scratchy throat trying to roar.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

Ode to a Bee Sam Forbes, Grade 7 Idaho Falls When I bend down to admire the dazzling colors of a bee, I long to reach out and stroke the wonderful ball of fuzz, To inhale and savor the sweet smell of pollen, To lick the sweet nutritious flow of honey. However, every time I do, I get a big welt from the stinger. After I yelp with pain, I depart, For I do not want to linger. From this, it goes to show some beauty is better untouched, especially beauty with a stinger.

Curious city

Transformed Madison Galer, Grade 7 Rexburg I had fallen asleep during math class. Mr. Williams was giving a terribly boring lesson on finding negative square roots. When I awoke, my classmates were giving me a look that was hard to discern, a combination of confusion and amusement. “What’s wrong with you guys?” I asked. “You look d-different,” one kid stammered. I decided I should have a look at myself, so I politely asked Mr. Williams if I could be excused. “Yes, but hurry back,” he replied absentmindedly. So, there I was standing in the girls’ room examining the new me. I was covered in wrinkles and my veins were popping out. My hair had turned a silvery gray color, my hands were gnarled and swollen, and my back was hunched over. I looked like I was eighty years old. What was wrong with me? I had no idea, but I needed to find out soon. I called my mom, and she came to pick me up. When she saw me, she screamed. I told her everything that had happened to me, and she hurried me to the doctor as quickly as she could. The doctor said this was a rare illness, but he had heard of a few cases. There wasn’t really anything you could do for it. He said I should still feel young and be able to do everything I always had been able to do. Strangely enough, I was able to do everything the doctor said I should be able to do. The next day I went back to school. At recess I raced to the monkey bars and swung across them in record time. Everyone just stared and wondered how it was possible. That summer I rode my bike and swam and played just like any other child. Eventually everyone adjusted to me appearing to be an old lady but being a child at heart. Slowly, I adjusted, too. I came to the conclusion that I must accept myself as I was and push forward with life. And I did and am still pushing forward at the ripe old age of one hundred.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

A Dog’s Apology Abigail McGarry, Grade 8 Idaho Falls Dear Master, I have eaten the pork chops that were on the grill And which you were probably cooking for dinner. Please forgive me. I could not resist. You must have worked so hard marinating them because they were perfect, so tender and flavorful.

The Predicament Andrew Betcher, Grade 6 Kuna There I was, Me, Tim, the lumberjack. We were still trying to meet the quota for the day and were exhausted. That’s when our saws split in half and our big chainsaw broke. We only had our axes and about 30 minutes for the 12 of us to chop down three more trees. So we split up, four to a tree, we started. One person on each side of the tree, hacking away. We’d worked about 25 minutes and had gotten a quarter of the way through each tree. The strongest wind I’d ever felt started up, but only the leaves on our three trees were stirring. Suddenly we heard a big “POP” and all three trees fell over. At exactly the time to stop working, they were felled and we did the impossible that day. When, even though our saws were broken and all we had was axes, we still met the quota.

Curious city

Waterfall Anabel Smith, Grade 8 Idaho Falls Among other water rushing fast sparkling cascade quickly downward splashing

A Shell Reminds Me Kara Oler, Grade 5 Meridian A shell reminds me of the ocean, the key opening the trapdoor. I can see an abandoned gold coin, that shines like the moon, and a marble on the blanket of sand, like a beautiful pearl. I see a snake slithering slyly, or is that a thread. The snake is eating an olive or is that a marble? When I am done, I go up the rock, that is my steps, back to reality. I open the door to a colorful bowling ball I can see is a marble.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

There Once Was A Girl Chaewon Kim, Grade 4 Boise There once was a girl building a cardboard man Instead of a snowman She used white cardboard 2 body parts The head, the body, the neck Very skinny. There once was an invisible girl When she was a baby A witch came, cast an invisible spell Once she was standing on a Chair then she got frozen. Now she is outside as a statue. There once was a girl by the Sea playing with the sand. Then a big looking magical wave crashed On the sand castle. Then right in front Of her eyes was a huge Sand castle. She went in the castle The queen of the sand she was. In the picture here I am. I see Bouncing, pouncing, spinning dancing I see a pot that is hot in the play I see crying, flying, fighting, and lightening In this wonderful day.

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The Puppy Ellie Christian, Grade 6 Boise One morning, as Ellie was waking up from happy dreams, she discovered in her sleep she had been changed into a cute cuddly puppy. She was lying upside down on her bed, when she looked down at her self she saw her soft fur and her wagging tail she couldn’t control. She shook out her fur and tried to get up but as soon as she got up she fell awkwardly down back on the bed, she realized she was not as coordinated as she was when she was a human. “What’s happened to me?” she thought. It wasn’t a dream. Her room, a right place for a human being, the normal size, lay somewhat shapeless in the light of day. On the shelf by the window she saw all her favorite human trinkets, but she had no interest in them now, but to chew all of them. Ellie glanced at the window. Though it was never open she could almost feel the humid and muggy air leaking through between her window seal and the window, it made her shed all over: “Why don’t I keep sleeping for a while longer and forget all this foolishness,” she thought. But she had never been able to sleep curled up in a ball, and especially with all the fur in her face.

The sky turned to one big cloud Kimberly Cook, Grade 6 Boise Waves splashing my toes sinking deeper deeper in the endless pit of sand knowing there’s a world different from mine under the blanket of water, beyond I can see life is there deep down under swimming all day to their content until the day closes to a stop.

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Words Work Wonders 2009

There once was Lily Kim, Grade 6 Boise There once was a turtle who always went out for a morning walk, and when he did this he never took the path except for when he had to. He liked to see new things and go on adventures. He always noticed the things about nature, the way the leaves rustled, the smells of the forest and the way the water flowed. He was very observant. And when he got to his house he very gently rung the doorbell even though he knew no one was there. Then silence filled the air as he opened his door and went in.

Platypus Lily Lily Tacke, Grade 5 Boise One morning as Lily Tacke was waking up from exciting dreams, she discovered she had been changed into a platypus. She was lying on her shiny brown fur, and felt her rubber toothless bill feeling numb from shock! She tried to get out of bed but she was lying on her back, and that made it difficult because of her armless webbed feet. “What’s happened to me,” she thought. She knew this was not a dream. Her proper room, for a person, being quite a bit bigger because she had shrunk 4 feet, now smelled of platypus. Like wood, water, fish and feathers. It did not smell very nice. On her bedside table was a lamp that would give off no light, because of its useless bulb inside it, it was like a platypus’s dark fur. Lily’s eyes then turned to her bookshelf. All the books made her feel dizzy on her platypus eyes. “How bout I keep sleeping a little longer and forget all this nonsense.” But she couldn’t sleep with a big rubber beak poking into the wall behind her.

Curious city

Suemoly’s New White Shoes Sylver Schachtell, Grade 5 Boise Suemoly was a young lady with the latest new shoes in New York. One day Suemoly was invited to a dance. That day Suemoly tried on every dress in her closet, but then she found the perfect outfit at the end of her closet. She wore a long pink dress with her new white shoes, and when she got to the dance everyone was looking at her and complementing her on her shoes and dress. She danced all night in her new white shoes. And from that day on all of Suemoly’s siblings and their siblings and all of their kids and their kids kids, all wore that pink dress and Suemoly’s new white shoes to the same dance for decades.

The Lake Hayden Sackett, Grade 6 Meridian The billowing winds blow falling leaves to far away places. The sloshing of ripples hitting the shore after the rock I sent in the water. The sweet smell of the lake water, the screams of laughter from families nearby. The gentle spray of water on my face as friends and family jump in. Hear the soft sound of ducks flying who knows where. The rhythm of their winds drills into my head. The taste of water on my tongue. The sand feels soft under my feet, the tiny grains rubbing against my soles. I jump in and water swells around me. I force myself down to the bottom, sit there, then jump out. I come up dripping, hair plastered to my face.

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The Garden of Twists and Turns David Philips, Grade 6 Palm Springs, CA It smells like a peachy strawberry rose, the dew felt like a sea, the fountain was loud. I felt like a green house with the sun on my back and it felt great. The tree moving next to me gives the flowers shade. When I come back to the gazebo I find branches and fat vines all in twists and turns.

Spider Webs Isabella Birnie, Grade 5 Jerome My name is the quiet breeze before a storm, warning you to the wet weather ahead. My name is like the strings on a spider web, pretty and, though fragile, very strong. My name is a song only some can hear. My name is my horse, a solid back on which I can dream. My name is the red sunset, the gold lining on clouds in the morning. My name is the frost on the boughs of a pine tree, it echoes in the canyons, in the deserts. My name is the honey in tea, and the strong smell of wood sap. It calls me home, no matter how far I go. My name is the highest, driest, rock in a flood.

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Realization Kennedy Jones, Grade 6 Twin Falls Wet sitting on the dew covered grass. Look at them—one newly born and one close to death. One can be a soft, fuzzy pink, and over the shoulder, one as red as a mad, fervent fire. Next you see how people can be pulled apart or brought together, even yourself. How one can be flourishing, the other scorched, though both grounded by the same roots. These are the roses.

Autumn and Tree Love Mike Montanus, Grade 5 Twin Falls Autumn is such a cold season that not many things love Autumn. But the trees for sure love Autumn. Some trees love Autumn so much their leaves turn red with embarrassment, fall off, and faint. But one tree is so confident that it greets Autumn with its branches. Some even make little caves at their roots. Autumn loves pine trees so much that she gives them a little gift. That gift makes the pine trees want to stay put throughout winter, just so they can see Autumn again. What is the gift you ask? Well for us, we call it snow, but they call it love.

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Slowly Fading Away Ryley Hicks, Grade 6 Elko, NV Hot in the desert, as hot as the Sahara, no water for miles, the world is a dark shape around me, no trees for shade, I wish I was in a place with water and a dark place to hide, a camel to carry me, a tent for protection, I hear cries for help but they are slowly fading away. I lay in the boiling hot sand holding a picture of my love and I slowly fade away into the darkness.

The Lion of His Own Land Sonora Birnie, Grade 6 Jerome The wild horse stands proud in a great lush valley, like the lion of his own land. His shrill whinny echoes throughout the valley, his mane twisting and twirling like the white foam of the sea. The mustang stands tall, thrusting his chest forward as if challenging the dew washed world, his hooves slashing in the air lie pieces of fiery flint. The mustang’s tail flies behind him like a flag, his body glints and shines.

Curious city

Rain on the Roof Mara Benjamin, Grade 8 Middleton Rain is falling Rain is falling On the roof It’s the pounding of a drum But if you really listen It almost sounds like you’re on the beach The ocean waves When they’re crashing down But there is something missing The cry of the gulls And it makes it lonely if you really are Imagining that you’re at the beach Because without seagulls It’s just not the beach anymore However, there is another perspective One that goes much, much deeper…

It Hope Carter, Grade 7 Caldwell She ran. She slowed. He ran. He sprinted. She breathes. He puffs. It comes. It sees. It runs. They run. He grabs. She drags. It sprints. They run. It chases. They fall. It catches. She screams. He cries. It bites. They fight. It wins. He runs. She fades. He walks. It grumbles. He falls. It goes. He lays.

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The Old Town Church Andrew Curtis, Grade 8 Fruitland Hear the! Hear the! The church bell rings Listen to the stained glass It’s telling a story “Age upon age People have come To fill my pews And hear my song They have changed And come and gone But I am still here All alone Without a soul To fill my home So I stand To wait the day When people will come To stay.”

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When I’m Full of Silence Tenaya Mower, Grade 5 Nampa When I’m full of silence I see redwood trees, deer, flowers, waterfalls, small but wet, falling on the street, and the sunlight. When I’m full of silence, I smell wild flowers, pine, ferns, sap, bark, and fur, chips, and cooked meat. When I’m full of silence, I hear blue jays, ugly quacks, the hissing sound of BBQ, the crackling of fallen leaves, and the trickling sound of the stream. When I’m full of silence, I feel rough bark, dirt, brown leaves, rocks, and water so cool and wet. When I’m full of silence, I taste sandwiches chips, meat, and everything at the picnic. When I’m full of silence, I travel to the past.

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One Boy, Two Girls Aubrey Smith, Grade 6 Caldwell There’s nothing cuter then a baby cat with eyes bigger then it’s head. When you get attached It gets cuter every time. The mother isn’t even six months old They really grow that fast. One boy, two girls, The girls always wander off, the boy always stays. The boy is a mama’s boy He always sleeps next to her. The brown kitten is a girl She’s always getting lost. The calico is a girl She’s kind of the annoying one, always biting on their ears. And last, the orange mama’s boy Looks just like his mom. They’re just like little kids You have them for a very short amount of time. By four months from now They’ll be cats.

Curious city

White and Calm Samantha Wozniak, Grade 6 Fruitland Everything is white and calm The smell of lavender fills your head Every time you blink the white slowly fades away But the strong smell of lavender still fills your head You sit for you just have opened your mind An explosion of colors splatters everywhere People, places, things and words come out into the space The bright colors are familiar to you You can see what was inside of you Out in the world You can see the amazing animal And places and those wired things you made up when you were bored But you know you must get back to reality Your home, your friends But you may come back if you like Cause it’s right here in your head

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Eliza Abigail Barton, Grade 7 Bellevue I am from long and tiring chores everyday, my least favorite day, laundry day. I am from crammed old schoolhouses and Fourth Readers, dusty and worn. I am from gazing at typewriters to Stitching my sampler. From salad wafers to Gold Dust laundry soap. Carding the wool, and misbehaving at school. Watching my older sister tighten her corset every morning, seeing her waist get smaller and smaller. I am from marveling at our new oven and secretly reading in the forbidden parlor. I am from chickens pecking at my feet as I collect their copper-colored eggs. The big grandfather clock in the school, which seems to stare me straight in the eye, as I sit on the creaking bench in the back. The sign in the kitchen that says, God is Love. I am from peeking in the tavern to see that magical piano play without the drunken man playing on the keys. I am from eggs in the morning to Kate Smith’s Bake-a-Cake kit. I am from the primary Everyday Arithmetic to the China box in the almost empty China cabinet (all the China is broken.) From Mama’s box of multi-colored buttons to her favorite towel that says, Idaho.

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The picture of George Washington on the schoolhouse wall, the glass of the frame has cracks right through his face. I am from the milking stool serving as a table for my floppy old rag doll. The Beacon Phonetic Chart I’ve used so many times before. I am from the turn of the century.

Dusk to Dawn Ian Fisher, Grade 8 Caldwell Nestled deep in the country a farm and company wake from the dark that hides it at nightfall As the rooster wakes and crows for the first time oranges and purples branch out from the mountains drawing a picture in the sky dew settles on the grass as the farmer reluctantly gets out of bed As the lines of the sun spread over the land even rats gaze upwards in awe of something so amazing signs of life leap up from the shadows and fill the air with song

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The Sweet Smell of Bubble Gum Sarah Carty, Grade 7 Bellevue I can call back sitting on the big gray rock with my cousins, staring at the deep, dark sky spitting out water. I can call back the sweet taste of rice crispy treats, and the chocolaty Ovaltine with extra chocolate powder. I can call back the faint theme song of The Price is Right echoing into the kitchen where we were having a snack. I can call back the big, blue hydrangeas proudly smiling at me while I walked out the door to play ball with the dog, Daisy. I can call back my grandpa finding the perfect piece for his barn dance puzzle. And staring in awe as I touched the rear fin on the red ’55 Chevy convertible he restored. I can call back the sweet smell of pink bubble gum when my grandma talked to me. And waddling into the living room at only three years old and attempting yoga with her.

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I can call back picking tangy red loganberries and making jam. I can call back sitting at the kid’s table and drinking cider out of tiny champagne glasses.

Bethany Allison Fluetsch, Grade 8 Hailey It was beautiful with blue skies and warm, sandy beaches. My cousin Tommy and I ran into the turquoise waves, ready to bodysurf. My other cousins were close behind, trying to catch up. The waves pounded as the music of the surf filled my ears, along with the laughs of my sister. Today was the best beach day all week. But, ironically, it was also the second to last day of staying at the blue-gray beach house my grandparents rented in Bethany Beach, Delaware. Bethany Beach was the greatest beach town I had ever been to. With boardwalks that offered snow cones, frozen chocolate bananas, and golden fried cakes that smelled so delicious, but somehow you knew were terrible for you, I was in paradise. I remember playing Rock Band early in the morning before our parents were awake, to the sweet smells of the candy shop. Even though I only stayed in Bethany for a week, it was the most memorable few days I’ve ever lived.

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There Is A Silence in Everything Rory Cole, Grade 7 Bellevue There is a silence in everything a tree a rock a cloud. There is the silence of a cemetery resting and waiting, trying to be forgotten. There is the silence of a tree old, wise, and thoughtful. The silence of a cloud watched by all below. The silence of a rock stubbornly staying in its spot. There is the silent movement of the wind yelling and screaming in its own silent way. There is a silence in the sand laying where it wants. There is a silence in a bench sitting, waiting for someone to come and rest. There is a silence in everything, even in the sky. There is a silence in a swing waiting to play. There is a silence in the grasshopper Still, on my hand. There is a silence in the cricket singing a nighttime song. There is even a silence in the constant drumming of a woodpecker, pecking at its wood Peck…Peck…Peck.

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Camp Alice Pittenger Shelby Barnes, Grade 8 Hailey I can call back the sun beating down on me, damaging my perfectly white skin. Walking up an unpaved road, kicking dirt into my irritated eyes, seeing robins gossip over the latest worm and deer rustle in the grass, arguing over the best clover. I can call back sitting at the rickety wooden table in the mess hall, eating plastic macaroni and greasy chicken to swimming in an ice-cold lake, making me feel like a thousand needles were piercing my lungs. I can call back hearing my roommates fight over the silliest things, nearly making me rip their heads off. I can call back sitting on an old yellow school bus, smelling sweat bead across my forehead, wishing for this tortuous ride home to end.

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I Am from Broken Fingers and Deep Cuts Julia Broderick, Grade 9 Hailey I am from dirty boots that are ripping at the seams. From back breaking work that pays very little. I am from digging, and digging, until I can’t dig no more. From calluses on my hands from the mining pick. I am from smudges of coal on my face, I’m from the love of my wife, Annie for whom I do this impossibly small job. I am from years and years of shoveling. I am not from an education, just work. From the time I was fifteen, I was on my own. I am the son of a drunk and the son of a mother of eight. Because of the love I feel for my children, Charlie and Beth, I am not like my father. I am from bandanas to keep the dust out of my face from skinny bones and crooked teeth. I’m from this dim lantern that guides my way through this dark tunnel. From the trust I give the coal for not collapsing on my body. I am from tan skin, baked in the hot sun. And peeling hands from the drill press. I am from sleepless nights, not knowing how I can support my family. I’m from the town gossip of the thirty-five year old miner who will get replaced by a younger guy any day. And from wrinkles above my eyes from squinting at the sun. Bruises from bumping into the coal walls. I am from hugs when I get home from work.

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And a friendly bark from my old dog, Bruce. And a kiss on my dirty cheek from my beautiful bride.

Kam Jesse Cole, Grade 5 Bellevue I can call back her wet, black nose, her tan and puffy fur, her warm black tongue licking my face, her loud but gentle bark, and her curly, fluffy tail—it made a swishing noise as it wagged. I can call back me feeding her my scrambled eggs, her bounding through the white clouds of snow, and me laying down to take a nap on her warm back. I can call back her sleeping at the foot of my bed at Christmas, the hot pink egg she stole on Easter, and the barrettes I would put in her long, puffy fur. I can call back all these wonderful things about my dog, Kam.

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Silence Brooke Sundholm, Grade 6 Ketchum The silence of the willow tree’s arch as kids sit on its branches. The silence of the baby after it is born. The silence of the bench as it waits for someone to come and rest And the silence of the grass as it sways in the wind. The silence of all of us as we try to write our poems The silence of the cotton soaring, chaotic as a blizzard. The silence of a blank piece of paper as it is turned. And the silence of the girl under the willow tree. The silence of me ending this poem and thinking what life brings ahead of me.

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My Face Looked Like Waves Autumn Fluetsch, Grade 6 Hailey I can call back taking my first step into a metro and buzzing off into the dark. I can call back walking through the big doors into the art museum and seeing all the guards. I can call back walking down the stairs and seeing the ocean blue water flowing down the wall in the lunch cafeteria. I can call back the busy street with lots of small, school-bus yellow taxis. I can call back taking a bite into a juicy long hot dog with ketchup and mustard we bought from a boy with a white apron at a food stand. I can call back the sharp smell of gasoline, and the delicious smell of fried elephant ears. I can call back seeing my reflection in the long reflecting pool—my face looked like waves. I can call back the feeling of wanting to do more, but knowing time was out. I can call back Washington D.C.

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The Bravest Soldier Hannah Burrell, Grade 7 Boise Khalid Saleh Banat: the bravest soldier Why is he so brave? He has been fighting in the war for two years He’s only 13 He’s killed more men than any of us have ever seen His family in Darfur is proud of him While they feel hunger and desperation, They feel honored That their boy is helping defend their country While we sleep on our memory foam mattresses With our fluffy feather pillows and 100% cotton sheets Khalid Saleh Banat sleeps on the cold, hard ground Waking every hour or so, to make sure no one is attacking While we beg our parents for the newest, coolest Clothes that we lose and forget about Khalid Saleh Banat hopes that soon, He might be able to dunk his shirt in a puddle Because he hasn’t in two months While we shower every day with our mango and citrus shampoo Khalid Saleh Banat will get lucky if he can find Enough water to splash on his face And, while we don’t bother to tell our parents That we love them before we go to school Khalid Saleh Banat gives his parents possibly a final “I love you”, for he may never see them again So next time you have to get that new CD or video game I hope you will think about Khalid Saleh Banat: the bravest soldier

Curious city

I Am From Hanif Djunaedy, Grade 7 Boise I am from a haunted house from shallow breathing to sudden slams. I am from a large garden where mangoes grow and bananas too. I am from a lazy street where nothing much happens Where cars and cycles just pass by. I am from cultural food where we cook Acehnese and Sundanese. I am from paddy fields where our neighbors sell rice. I am from scorched earth a large burning in World War II. I am from natural disasters where volcanoes and earthquakes happen. I am from family gatherings where every one comes to visit at the end of Ramadan. I am from the city of Bandung in Indonesia.

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Realize Together Monica Rommens, Grade 7 Boise Pure Hope, Dedicated Dreams, Universal Life, Rings Dignity, Cover Children, Never Silent, No sides. History Embraces: All Truth, Humanity, Happiness, Liberty. Full Love Standing Equal Belonging Civil Wilderness. Thoughtful Memory Pursue Life. Little Children Hope Together For Liberty, Life, Nature. Realize Together, A Changing Mosaic.

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View From The Park Quinn Spencer, Grade 8 Caldwell Over my head I see the miniature skyline of Boise, a mass of concrete, dark glass, and jagged metal. Down the broken path cars breeze by like ants, their drivers on their own little missions elsewhere. To my right, the starlings shriek like infants deprived of their favorite toys. I throw them crumbs of stale bread, and watch them arc over the grass. An elderly couple walks a young dog across the parking lot. and yet, I am alone.

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Watcher Kate Tsourmas, Grade 7 Boise Under the eclipse of the sun I found myself staring At Time himself In the land of Magma and Ice With his many, many eyes “Why have you all of those eyes?” I asked quizzically. “Why need you see so much?” Time closed his eyes And slowly replied “One for watching each minute everywhere and all of forever.” And as I watched Each pupil stayed fixed On something Or nothing And as I walked Through the fire and the chill A different one stayed fixed On myself And everything.

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Star Ode Lee Sullivan, Grade 7 Boise Star, the universe’s flower of the sky, Waging war against gravity’s might, Helping us with its light, Something like this, you cannot buy. Even in death it still holds might, When gravity crushes it, it leaves a blanket in the void, A blanket of color that cannot be annoyed, For it will inevitably lose the fight. Or it could become its darker sister, Sucking up light and all nearer, The most mysterious things that can embody fear, It, most certainly is the most sinister. Clearly, this is a cause for fuss, Thinking how insignificant we truly are, In comparison to a star, Oh wonders in the heavens, could you ever spare us?

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Messages of One Who Wanders Emily Volk, Grade 7 Boise Upon the sea I met Wonder, Upon the sea, All flecked with gold. How slow she was As the breeze “Where are you going, On this endless lake?” I said. “Why slow as if in a dream in the dark of night?” “You that speed Among your tasks,” She said, “Are the ones That live your lives Only in the dark.” As I sped away Across the sea of gold, I paused to think, to see. The sky opened up And light came in And I changed, Eternally.

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The Stones Amber Wolff, Grade 8 Boise White: The Heaven that awaits us, made of gold and joy Magenta: The longing to know all there was, is, and will be Pink: The color that everyone loves, but is not pure Tan: The sand that is found on the shores in the scorching desert Red: The fire that is wonderful and bright cold-hearted and unforgiving Orange: The heart of the sunset, that everyone in the world can see Blue: The water that does everything on earth Black: The end. The horror and darkness. A void of silence and loneliness.

Boredom Wins Jake Pewe, Grade 4 Eagle I first met boredom At McDonalds. I met him In the kiddie playground. He got some McNuggets And I got a fish fillet. He thinks he’s boring But he’s not. He is full Of fun. We talk together. We eat together. We walk Together. We play together.

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Priest Lake 2008 Jillie Herrold, Grade 5 Eagle The mouse trap covered in peanut butter A cramped blowup mattress A dusty shelf covered in photographs The slow heat of the fireplace Some yelling of the waterskiers The orange flag waving above the speeding boat The creaking in the dock The giggling of the girls The tramping of our footsteps Running to the gift shop Looking for Starburst Walking carefully on the bridge Looking down at the red water Spying on my sister behind the dumpster Little brother gets kicked out of restaurant for not wearing shoes And the sadness of going home

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Bless the Skip Jeremiah Prenn, Grade 5 Star May the skipping stone Never fail to amaze everyone The first time, and never fail To entertain. Even with big waves May the stone skip on forever. And may the stone skip, even If the thrower hasn’t been Educated, and may the teacher Teach successfully. And always, Always may the stone skip on forever, always skipping. And may the stone be flat and smooth and not too round and not too big and not too small. May the stone always be perfect.

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The Secret Adventures of Morgan Marie Madisan Hergert, Grade 5 Star Morgan is writing in her room. I know what she is writing about. I snuck into her room the other day and stole her notebook. I ran as fast as I could back to my room. I started reading. My reading was in depth. The story went like this: The boat crashed, I am drowning. No, I’m alive. I swam to the edge of the sandy shore where I found a sign that read, Conorma Island. Blood was all over me. I was shaking like an earthquake. Hard and fast, the worst feeling ever. But on the plus side, I was awake, alive, my heart pumping and my lungs working to make me breathe. I was alone, a fire crackling—the fire I started. I had one official year of girl scouts. I think it paid off. I was clean, no longer covered in blood. I had jumped in the water and held my breath only to find myself surrounded by seaweed. As I rose back to the surface, seagulls from above me made their strange irritating noise. I was stranded, and as I looked closer into the water, I saw bodies. Red hair, face down, wearing capris, a yellow t-shirt with orange polka dots, and flip-flops, ones that I had let her borrow. My best friend was gone forever. Sobbing came out of me. It didn’t stop. It kept coming like a waterfall. Death. Something many people fear and unfortunately have suffered from, but everyone must meet death in the end, no matter what happens. I didn’t want it to happen to my friend that way. She wanted to die of old age. Not like this. It kept coming, the sobbing didn’t stop. It didn’t. That was all she had so far, unless she was adding more, which she was. I couldn’t wait to read the rest she had written. I sure hope that it is as good as the stuff she wrote yesterday. If not, I will be bummed.

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That was the best piece of writing I had ever read in all my life. I write myself. I write things about stuff I want to write about, not what someone else wants. Morgan walked out of her room. I hid out of sight in the towel closet. Thank goodness she didn’t see me.

Little Memories Annabelle Larsen, Grade 5 Star I’m from quilts and pillows, From bedtime stories, from big pie Messes. I’m from sucking on binky’s and pinky’s. I’m from Cheerios and raspberries. Bouncing On balls. I’m from know-it-alls and smart alecs. I’m from, “Help me please,” bags and boxes, Pencils and schools. I’m from Idaho and books. I’m from friends and fun. From long cold winters and stifling summers. I’m from Hildebrants and Larsens, Matthews and Wixoms. I’m from joy and laughter. From tearing and endurance. I’m from hurt and sorrow, Heartache and pain. I’m from mathematics, and science, language and writing. I’m from biking and boating, from walking and finding. I’m from my family. I’m from hard work and World War II. From moving and wandering. I’m from my family tree.

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The Tiger Anabell Woodbury, Grade 5 Meridian As I wish upon A star, I hear A whistling Noise from far. I turn around Only to feel A sharp pain In my back. “I think I Passed out. How long Have I slept??!!” I put my hand to my head To thin—wait!!! I put my paw To my head!!! I tried to say, “What’s happening To me?” but All that came Out was a roar, Nothing more! With that, my dad Came running with pepper spray in hand, but when he saw me, he screamed, “Tiger, tiger, Run while You still can!” “A tiger!” I gasped, (or at least tried to)

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Is that what I am? I look in the nearest Puddle to discover it Is true; I have Been swallowed In a coat of Beautiful patterned Furs no one Could have sewn. I kind of figured My dad called Animal Control When a huge Net flew over me. Now I regret Making that wish, on that star that very night.

Sabi Teagan Feeley, Grade 5 Boise On the 59th page of my dreambook, it was bright outside and yet it was dark at home. Everyone was asleep. I was in an Egyptian castle wearing a beautiful dress, standing above a large pot with a snake called Sabi in it. A sweet sound of singing was coming from somewhere. Then I realized I was singing. Finally, Sabi comes out of the pot and gives me the golden egg she just laid. After I had eaten that egg, I fell in to a deep slumber.

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Laughter Moriah Haley, Grade 5 Eagle Laughter is my best friend. I haven’t seen her for a while. I try to shut her out Because people say I laugh too much. I miss her when I leave her In my gloomy days. Being without her is like a tree Without a trunk. She makes me Happy when sadness happens. I am the girl, but she is The dress, and we are Meant for each other. She is full of love To lighten my day Which is why I shout “Come back to me. It’s hard for me to not be With you!” I will always Count on her, and she’s the only One. Nothing can stop Her from lightening people’s days.

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Moving ‘Round the World Grace Saathoff, Grade 4 Eagle I’m from mid land to The farthest sea. From clear blue skies, hills of grassy green To the finest pollution and tall tall buildings I’m from the hospital to home To the hospital again. From Boise to China And the other way around. In China, I’m from Magnum bars And breathed in pollution We kept our pictures of close And far places in a very special book. The future is a mystery And the past is a memory like In Australia it is warm And in Antarctica it is cold. From USA to China across Europe and India through Australia. From moving around The world you never Want to see a box again In your life.

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Ode to Hoverounds Anya Szentes, Grade 5 Eagle My Aunt Lori bought me A hoveround which I do not Use. She must not realize that I’m not a grandpa yet. On the Commercials it said I could take my hoveround to the Grand Canyon. Maybe I’ll try a float down the Nile River. Hoverounds look like a Big mutated bear, except without The fur. They scream down hallways Like a coyote with rabies. I’ll get a License plate and drive it on the highway. All I can say is I didn’t ask for a hoveround For Christmas.

The Secret Life of Leedee Hampton Kian Brinkerhoff, Grade 6 Eagle One day Leedee Hampton rode a shiny green motorcycle to a far away island that had horrible smelling garbage. When the island was discovered, the trees weren’t growing because the roots sucked up tar, oil, and acid. There was so much glass and cold tar it looked like it was made out of it. Leedee Hampton went to live there. The first day he took a tan, he looked shabby and clammy. He could never go outside because it rained oil and acid. One day he met a witch. She had a hairy pus spurting wart on her lip. The witch hoped one day Leedee would marry her. Unfortunately, she was standing in the acid rain and Leedee saw her melt to the ground.

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Ode to My Flashlight Alison Block, Grade 4 Eagle

Ode to the flashlight I bought at the store. I put in two batteries, flick on a switch And this glorious thing lights Up like the sun. On dark nights, When the moon is only A sliver, like the last piece Of pie, I flick on the switch, And it lights up the sky Like a firefly on a black night. But when the dawn breaks With its beautiful colors, like flowers In a garden, my flashlight will dim And finally fade away, Like all the night shadows. Again, when nighttime falls It is so dark, it is like I’m wearing a blindfold, But my flashlight chases the darkness Away like a dog pursues a cat. Ode to my flashlight For illuminating my way.

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Sun Valley Rachel Block, Grade 4 Eagle Birds loudly chirp In the nearby branches, Chipmunks scurry up tree trunks In the distance Green leaves flap In the breeze Warm air blows In my face As I hike up Dollar Mountain The long grass Tickles my legs Beautiful brown mountains With tall, dark green trees Visible in the background I stop and rest In the shade of a big pine tree All around me Pretty wildflowers Scented like shop perfume Butterflies fly over my head Flittering quietly As I lay down on the grass To enjoy nature

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Me Kelsey Drayton, Grade 5 Boise I’m from Dr. Pepper, cola, soda I’m from Sandals, and flip-flops simply Covered in sand, and friendships with Animals: lizards, snakes, dogs, and three cats I am from relaxation, the tamed or wild Snow leopard in its rightful home, Or sanctuary I’m from fuzzy pairs of slippers By the hundreds I am from blown glass and broken Lamps by squeaky toys I am from slip-n-slides made from blown up Rafts and hula birthday parties I am from key lime pie I am from dancing, ages two to eight, Hip hop, ballet, jazz, and simply made up Dancing I am from splashing waves and Sea salt potato chips I am from underwater Snorkels and the heart and mind Of Elvis Presley and the kind Spiritual soul of Anne Frank

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Redfish Lake Laura Pape, Grade 4 Boise A stick cracks, And a breeze ruffles through The trees that go farther than an eye can see. The soft mud closes Around my feet Protecting them From the icy water. Sploosh! A small ripple Fans out on the water As a frog jumps in Breaking the silence.

Nate the Trampoline Pirate Annie Bush, Grade 6 Boise My brother thinks he is a pirate—a Trampoline Pirate! Three reasons why he is annoying: One, he says he is the Trampoline Pirate so he hogs it all to himself. Two, he walks around wearing a pirate hat, black boots, and pirate clothes. Three, he always comes into my room and says, “Come an’ play with me Cap’n.”

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Joy Emily Pape, Grade 6 Boise She dances at our family gatherings, Embracing us all with her comforting arms. But sometimes she still acts like a child. For instance— when she swims at the lake with my friends and me, she can never figure out just how to dive. But that doesn’t bother her. Nothing ever does. She even tries to come to funerals, But the doors are always shut In her face. Though somehow, She always manages to sneak in Just in time for the reception. Once in a while, Sometimes at night, Sometimes during the day, Joy leaves. I think she goes To another friend’s house— one I do not know. But she always returns Soon after. She lives with me, Leaves my side rarely. She is like a sister to me. She is my sister.

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Peace of Nature Zakarie Macpherson, Grade 6 Meridian Sitting in the recliner A dane at my feet Wood of a coffee table under my hand In the backyard a slight breeze on the grass Beyond the yard sheep baa in the passing wind A stretch further a tractor harvests the wheat Then mountains go as far as my eyes can see Slow, quiet, peaceful I hover out the door

Kindness Gabby Ross, Grade 5 Boise We are good friends. We met at church. She was the only one talking out loud. She said, “Hi” and we clicked. Her stories are sweet Smelling tulips. She told me everything. She’s only eleven and drinks Coffee. She hates candy and grass. She can cook, and likes to Cook sweet things Like pie, cookies, cake.

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She is like medicine You take when you’re Sick. Right when it goes In your mouth you feel Better. She stops at every House, And leaves a cookie On every doorstep.

Three days after Pookie’s Adventure Griffin Evett, Grade 6 Boise There was no more cage next to Hugh McNeal. The leftover vegetables from three days ago were starting to rot. The blue waters seemed endless even though he could see them confined by land, but the waters are constantly revolting against the land. They pound against the banks trying to claim what is not theirs. Once in a while, his friends and teammates said, “Start rowing, Hugh!” Hugh would think, “Why didn’t I jump off the side of the boat?” But that is all passed. He rowed harder Than he had ever before. All for him.

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The Difference Kuranda LaMay, Grade 8 Boise Sunlight slants like a dagger Poised to kill, Tearing the covers of darkness from my still form, Throwing back the sheets I rest safely in. Some things do not change, Like the sun calling me to join the day. The difference being the windows that wink from glass towers At passing cars All in rapid succession Like crazed hands dragged down the length of the piano, The timeless orb of light laughing along with the morbid scale.

Bored Artfully Robert Wallace, Grade 9 Eagle Once there was a very bored high schooler who liked to draw, and in English class he did just that. Then the bell rang, and he went to his next class, and started to draw again. This went on for three and a third days of school. He didn’t know what he was drawing or why. He just knew that when he was finished, it looked like a monster. A cross of a snake, dragon, bird, Elvis, and Buddha. When he was done, he thought long and hard about what made him draw what he did. Then it came to him. The snake, dragon, and bird were from science, Elvis from music class, and Buddha from world history. Art was his favorite class so he didn’t draw in that class. So instead he made a frame in art for the picture. His teacher talked to him about an art contest and said he should submit. He did and won.

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Rose Garden Memorial Nathaniel Marshall, Grade 6 Boise Silent wanderers Admiring different vivid shades of pink and yellow. One stoops to lower his nose to the sweet aroma. A fountain to provide music to the scene The sun shines and the glazed grass shimmers Every type of rose they could imagine This is a solitary dream that I have. My prayer is that I may live to see it.

A Secret Peyton Lettkeman, Grade 8 Mountain Home The man drove past in his shiny silver car, and in that quick second that I could see his face, I saw a story, a life. The man has a secret, one he doesn’t want anyone to know, but I do. If I were that man, If I were the man. I wouldn’t want anyone to know either. He did something bad, something he’ll get into a lot of trouble for. That man, he has committed a murder. That man has committed a murder and now he is ashamed! The man has committed a shameful murder and now he cannot get it out of his head! It is causing him pain! I saw it in his eyes and he looked right at me and told me about the crime through that tortured expression! That man has just killed his BEST FRIEND! And he should be ashamed. He deserves to feel great pain! That bearded man driving that shiny silver car down South Capitol Blvd. just killed a man and he is ashamed!

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Greenbelt Recall Claire Jussell, Grade 7 Boise I saw the man walking and I altered. My eyes zoomed in on him. Every detail on his face was clear, he was happy, though he was sad at the same time. His arm, amputated, most likely a car accident. Still where shattered glass cut him still a faint red. My ears changed. The rhythm of his feet sang a song a story beneath him. The earth groaned I blocked it, only listening to his footsteps His life was changed for the better I smiled. And my tongue flopped out of my mouth. The air around him was a chocolate bar, though recently a bitter cocoa bean. As I sniffed the air, the dog needed a bath. Before I could focus on the man, I blacked out. The air around him was cool, like a new spring after a harsh winter, not fully uncovered. With a flash I was back. Even though it was only a couple seconds, it felt like a long lesson. The man and his dog strolled off into the distance.

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The Painting Hallie Maxwell, Grade 7 Boise Anxious colors dart out from the canvas Excited words are jumbled. Odd shapes fill the whole painting. It is obnoxious ridiculous unmatched and nervous but confident at the same time. Rejected many times by viewers who think it is stupid silly and strange. But the painting just sits there sad, and alone, never to be loved.

Seeing a Photograph of “My Nurse� by Surrealist artist Meret Oppenheim Amy Krutz, Grade 8 Boise I was astonished when I saw this strange picture. Something very curious must have inspired this shot. Something silly, but not tense; ridiculous, but not peaceful. Two white, high-heeled shoes tied up with a string, set on a silver platter. I was puzzled by this odd setting that clearly shows that the male who took this picture thought himself dominant over women. This indifference is not pleasant, is not going to be accepted. Or at least, not by me.

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The Set of Fortune Cookies Jeremy Sexton, Grade 8 Merdian I nodded that the fortune was mostly true. I was at the Mongolian Barbeque. I was independent about most things but dependent on resources for knowledge (as most people are). I smiled and finished up my small bowl of mouth-watering noodles and crab…I think. My parents were discussing the American Revolution. My brother then interjected with some of his knowledge (which he mostly makes up). I open my mouth to correct him but back away not wanting to start another argument. I’m still hungry and ask Jonathan (my brother) for his fortune cookies. He hands it over. Usually he would keep it for himself but he decided he was full. I open the cookie and take out the fortune and it ironically says:

1900 Colin Fisher, Grade 6 Caldwell It’s Boise, Idaho near Five Mile Road and Ustick Road It’s 1900. Ten apple pickers are picking apples one day at an apple orchard all day until nightfall. It was really late, so all of them decided to sleep at the orchard instead of going home. There was a big storm that night.

Curious city

The Excited Rose John Orrison, Grade 6 Caldwell Once there was a book called “The Excited Rose” written in 1987. Here is a summary of it: Once there was a rose that liked to play with his friends a lot. So one day he was being a rebel. So he went and bought a can of spray paint and sprayed paint all over the city’s walls. But he was caught and taken to flower jail. But when night came some of his friends made a plan to break their flower friend out of the slammer. So they got five sticks of dynamite and guns if they needed them. When they went to the jail they blew a hole in its wall. The rose ran out and started screaming for joy so loud that it woke up the guards who then ran out through the hole in the wall and started shooting the guns out of the bad rebels’ hands. So they all had to go to jail. So the moral of the story is: never ever get too excited.

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Alexander’s Calder’s “Circus” Audrey Worrell, Grade 5 Boise I work and work but only get three bucks an hour. No one laughs. I come to work, I get fired, I live on the street. I cry, I cry, and I cry. My sister is in a circus and gets paid more, I’m sad.

Ann Weber’s Giant Sculptures Julia Pingel, Grade 4 Boise At the museum I think “Big Yellow” makes me feel small as a snail. Makes me feel like a Russian doll and colorful like a rainbow. “Blue Top” “Red Waist” “Big Yellow” Little Blue” and “Whitey” are brothers and sisters. In my imagination they all work out at a gym so they get skinny waists. I think “Big Yellow” is the oldest. They talk to one another about healthy foods like apples and bananas. They look like oranges stacked on top of each other. No staples hold them together. They have bodies that are almost human.

Curious city

What a Drop of Dew Would Say Derek Stein, Grade 5 Boise As I was looking through blades and blades of grass, I spied a drop of dew hanging on a grass blade. As I looked it said to me: “I wish I could see something other than grass. I wish I could see something like a flower or a brick.” I said: “What is so special about those? I see them every day.” The drop of dew then said to me: “You may see them everyday from your point of view, but if you were me, you would never see anything prettier than a flower or a brick.”

Untitled Khalani Hunt, Grade 8 Fort Hall Long, long time ago there was a little girl that had a disease that almost killed her, but instead it killed her mom. People said that god saved the little girl but the other people think the little girl put a curse on the mother, so the police searched the house. They found witchcraft books. The next day they shocked her. She screamed at them and said, “Stop, stop, stop.” But they never did. After four straight hours the little girl died. They buried her. After six years her spirit haunted the people that killed her. She killed them one at a time. But she was not over killing yet. She liked killing people. She killed her whole family. But ten minutes later the spirit of her mom came to save everyone from her daughter. When the daughter saw her mom she stopped killing people. But there were some good parts and bad parts. The mother went to heaven and the daughter went to hell for killing so many people. She burned.

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Greenbelt Sightings Cat Carignan, Grade 6 Boise We saw a spunky girl – College graduate who secretly wants to go to Oxford for graduate school. Spending her summer working three jobs and spending every extra second of the day working. Wants to pay for herself. Her parents don’t care.

A widow – A very nice woman who lost her husband 15 years ago. She relies on her friends and God to make the sun set and rise.

A nature lover – he takes all his anger out on his flute. Works at a pizza parlor. Dropped out of college and loves all music.

Curious city

Rose Kelcey Sterling, Grade 6 Boise Hurtful as the bee’s stinger Velvety as the queen’s best dress Beautiful as the Northern Lights Sweaty as the summer morning Colorful as the blushing worm Breathtaking as the worst monster Powerful as a lightning strike Free and Wild Contained and Quiet Shouting for joy Weeping for sorrow Young yet Old Kind yet Fierce Enormous yet Tiny Longing yet Happy Made up of thousands yet Single It all comes down to a single word And a single word is all it takes.

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How Life Works (Inspired by Alexander Calder’s painting “Circus”) Mahalie Hill, Grade 5 Boise I am a child Falling through mid-air My hands are above My feet below Someone catches me. I am hanging from my feet now My heart beats faster And faster And faster Then I hold hands I hold hands with someone hanging Hanging below me I think they feel Feel the same way I do But can I be sure? NO! I definitely can not! How can I feel someone else? How can I know? People are different And that’s a fact But why are his hands shaking? Because he’s afraid Afraid of falling Afraid of dying Afraid of being afraid. This is how life works.

Curious city

Remembering A Lost Orchard at Five Mile & Ustick Reagan Badger, Grade 5 Meridian Upon falling asleep for 109 years I wake to find something odd. Everything that meant anything All of that was gone. Each little sweet juicy apple, Each little green growing leaf, Everything that meant anything. All of that is gone.

Untitled Lana Hunt, Grade 4 Fort Hall The chair Is standing Dancing With the others Around The Fire

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The Silent Sounds Racheal Sharp, Grade 8 Fort Hall one day we were camping down Bottoms and we heard sounds of a slight whisper of the wind sometimes the wind can have more sound like birds and coyotes many, many more.

Untitled Alexa Hevewah, Grade 6 Fort Hall I am the sky. I see people under me and wait and wait and wait until I go to sleep. The sun and moon turn me on and off. I am just earth. I’m dark blue, white, green, light blue. People live on me and they fight and hurt me but I don’t hurt them. They hurt me all the time. I don’t like them hurting each other. When they were back in war I did not like it. War makes me feel like I am about to cry.

Untitled Mia Charley, Grade 4 Fort Hall There is a man screaming on a bridge with people behind him looking at him saying, “It’s in their heads.” He’s crazy and he has his mouth wide open.

Curious city

Untitled Kylee White, Grade 7 Fort Hall “What is that sound?” he asked. I said, “It is the sound of the water.” The boat was swaying in the water making a sound that was very calming. The water smelled like salt. He said he felt scared because he was in the dark and couldn’t see anything around him.

Untitled Sydney Baker, Grade 4 Fort Hall The monster is brown and big. It lives in a cave. When it goes to bed in the morning the monster falls on his bed. In the night it wakes up and it smells like a stinky big barn. The monster goes into town and its heading to the park and it hits the slide. Then people start to come to the park and the monster hides in a tunnel. The people come with pitch forks and fire and lights and a man hears the monster. He is the hero. He put his cape and mask on. The hero jumps out his window and starts running to the park. The people don’t see him he is so fast. He looks everywhere and he smells the monster in the long tunnel. So the hero looks in the first tunnel. It is green and the second tunnel is red. The next is blue. The monster trades the tunnels so the hero and monster get mixed up. The people get tired so they go home. It is almost morning and the monster falls asleep. The hero takes the monster and looks at it. The monster is afraid of flowers, so the hero gets some roses and the monster dies of the flowers.

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Untitled Bree Baker, Grade 7 Fort Hall If I was able to go underwater and see fish going against my toes moss all around me the cold water making me shiver with the currents moving fast and how it is so strong I would go floating away I can hear the birds singing so beautifully Water moving so peacefully And calm

Untitled Cassie McKean, Grade 9 Fort Hall I remember that we went camping and when I got out of the car I stepped on this rock. That’s all I could remember.

Untitled Marylou Buckskin, Grade 6 Fort Hall I am riding on a horse. I smell dust. I hear thumping on the ground from horses running. I hear people yelling. I see rocks, mountains, trees. I’m riding around seeing new things. I’m having a joy being everywhere I’ve never been before. I love the smell of pine trees around me.

Curious city

Untitled Sha’Lynn Shoyo, Grade 9 Fort Hall We smell salty sea air. Just me and my brother are in the boat. We was fishing. Then the fish weren’t biting. We fell asleep. I don’t know what time it was. It was getting late. We didn’t have a compass or anything. We are stranded. I’m running my finger against the rough wooden boat. I can hear seagulls cawing up in the air I’m looking up in the light blue sky and I see three eagles high in the air above us.

Untitled Kaycee Dixey, Grade 6 Fort Hall Fancy building Rich, beautiful sky Clouds resting on the wind The ocean calm Everything put in place neat

Untitled Atalya Hi, Grade 6 Fort Hall We look ugly We are in the middle of nowhere I see blue water I smell the fish I hear the water swish It sounds weird like a …

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Eagle Feathers Help Us Grow Pheobee Dixey, Grade 6 Fort Hall My grandma and grandpa put dots on us Because that’s our medicine It helps the bad spirits go away We Bless our feathers Protect our feathers If I drop my feathers it gives us bad luck When I drop my feathers The blesser puts his hat over it And talks in Shoshone And blesses it to me

Untitled Jodie Callahan, Grade 6 Fort Hall I am the one with the sweaty hat, the tall one. I hear in the place a lot of people screaming because it is a concert. They are standing on a pile of dirt and rocks. We feel shivers and I feel like my face is going into outer space. We are in a broken down village. I am looking at a list of people’s names for I don’t know what. I feel awesome. My coat is bright blue. When the list got put up I ran, so did everybody else. They pushed and shoved just to see the list.

Curious city

Untitled Atreawna Davis, Grade 3 Fort Hall One morning a stinky skunk jumped in my bedroom. I have a funny dog. I have a fat cat. I have a new fish that is fat. I messed up my bedroom. I said bad words. My mom got mad and I hopped outside in my field.

Untitled Stacia Bache, Grade 6 Fort Hall An old man Playing a violin Horrible music A man flying Like a bird A man trying To catch him A man cleaning The old man’s jacket

Untitled Angel Martinez, Grade 4 Fort Hall I believe that dogs stink and smell. I believe that if I say something bad, everything goes back to me. I believe that a buffalo is brown and it is hairy.

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Untitled Aubrey Pongah, Grade 11 Fort Hall They sheep dance like you Man are all the job Card home happy Find water

I Believe George Sebena, Grade 5 Fort Hall I believe that one day my dad and I will go to a Major league baseball game In Los Angeles, California to L.A. stadium. Their colors are blue and gray. I want to watch them play the Giants, orange, white and black. I hope they win.

Untitled Mary Benally, Grade 3 Fort Hall I saw a hawk on top of a hill And it was flying in the sky. It was red and two buffalo And one white buffalo. And I saw a fish jump in the water.

Curious city

Untitled Tyvan Farmer, Grade 4 Fort Hall I broke the window with a baseball. I broke the car window with a basketball. I broke the tree branch with my body. I broke a bed. I broke a skateboard. My parents were watching TV all day.

Untitled Amber Cates, Grade 5 Fort Hall Captain Oscar’s Pants woke up and he was stuck under his bed. He got out and his clothes were floating in air, covered in moss and mold. Out of the blue a unicorn popped out and he got new clothes and he and his unicorn flew away.

My Cat and the Dog and My Fish Lashonna Damon, Grade 2 Fort Hall I have a dog that is fat and a cat that is fat too. Our fish is funny. She’s not fat, she’s funny. Our cat and the dog are not funny. My dog pooped on my bed and my cat messed up my room. My fish was happy. My fish was playing in her room.

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Untitled Henry Falkner, Grade 5 Boise The water dances in the soil waiting, listening waiting to be discovered the snakes slithering in the tall grass the owl waiting for night the mice scurrying through the trees the frogs jumping over giant hollow logs

The Adventures of Dr. Flagpole Will Smith, Grade 4 Boise One day Dr. F.P. was climbing Mt. Everest to plant himself on top of it. Then he heard music. He poked his head up and saw the Yeti disco dance party. He tried to ignore it but he loved disco music. He was a flagpole at it but then the Yetis saw him. He kicked one and ran. He climbed all the way to the top. Then the Yeti flagpole got mad at him and shoved him off the edge. Search and Rescue eventually found him eating snow.

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Next time on Dr. Flagpole: Yeti’s revenge. Jack Hurty, Grade 5 Boise The swallow zipped growing smaller and smaller feathers shrinking disappearing into his body unable to fly plunging toward his nest lands, newly born eggshell seals around him

What You Can’t See Kate Carter-Cram, Grade 5 Meridian what you can’t see is quite a wonder to me the trees little insects crawling beneath deep dark bark or what lies beneath the good rich soil of earth how do the little grand oak tree’s roots fare it’s all a wonder to me and did you ever ask yourself what the little honey bee does to get ready for bed or how a mouse digs a tunnel so quickly are the mosquitoes relatives as violent as him what plants are waiting for us to discover them beneath the soil so they can breathe fresh sun light and air what is the willow tree’s best wish or dream it’s all a wonder to me

Writing Wild!

1722 Roanoke Emily Anderson, Grade 6 Boise Memory of crying at night five nights in a row. An old squeaky bed. An energetic rat named Olive. A crawlspace passage in my room. A nice golden dog A very loud blue fish. Memory of an old golden dog. Memory of two Siamese cats. Memory of a spotted rat. 42 pictures on a bedroom wall. A loud toilet flush. 6 bookshelves cluttered around the house. An old swing set. 7 trees. A dead tree. 2 memory boxes. A vampire series. A girl in her room sitting with her rat. A boy bouncing on his bed. A man stretching. A garden. A woman in the garden. A big spider on the ceiling. 2 laptops. 3 computers. 5 kayaks. A crayon under the couch. Memory of a tabby cat we called Chester. Memory of the man chasing Chester away. A nerf dart under the chair. A snake in the garden. A calico cat in the garden

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Birds Megan Brown, Grade 6 Meridian The birds, so loud and graceful, chirping as I relax in the tense, gentle sound of the waterfall falling again and again making splashes like rainfall through a stormy night. The strong scent of Tiger lilies and Petunias, and a bundle of yellow Roses tangle and twist the strong relaxing scent through your nose. Seeing bugs and creatures crawling and flying through the sunlight, the wind flies through past the trees and swishing through the willow trees and tall tall grass. Dew drops are moist on and through the grass, they land on my feet as I walk through, as I pass by, a tree, I touch the bark to feel the roughness and smooth parts of the tree.

Peaceful Morning Leah Mortimer, Grade 6 Boise The distant water fountain falling into a pond. The soft curved bench I am sitting on. The Clearwater settled under the faded wooden bridge. The trees and plants surround me making cool shade to sit under. The chirp of birds. Bright flowers light the shade of the trees. The old stone jail in the background. There are no people in the coolness and greens fade away into a dry desert land. All is so peaceful.

Writing Wild!

Smile Lauren Degen, Grade 6 Boise Smile when my brother’s nice to me Smile when my family’s happy Smile when I go on trips Smile when someone comforts me when I’m sad Smile when I hear a funny joke Smile when someone I love succeeds Smile when I get to watch my brother play baseball Smile when I see my grandparents Smile when I sing my favorite song Smile when I hear Taylor Swift Smile when I swim Smile when I hear ocean waves Smile when I’m surfing Smile when my dogs cuddle with me Smile when I help someone Smile when friends are nice to me Smile when I’m happy Smile when I feel loved Smile because I love to smile

The Bourbon Rose Brenna Houk, Grade 6 Boise I’m the prettiest rose in the entire garden. I’m the brightest and most gorgeous pink you will ever see. I should be in a wedding bouquet. I’m so beautiful. My fragrance is so sweet and my appearance so stunning that a fairy would live inside me. One other and I are the last remaining Bourbon Roses in the garden. All the others have wilted and died in pain, unlike us. All the white roses are so jealous of me, because of my majestic color. That is all I have to say, but I am the prettiest rose in the garden.

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The Dream of Beauty and Peace Calleah Fletcher, Grade 6 Boise The dream of beauty and peace It’s the beginning of summer the botanical garden’s soft, wooden benches are warm on my legs from heating in the sun there’s a light breeze barely rustling the leaves. Still the sun is getting warmer. I hear water. Maybe even a pond. There are dragonflies tickling at my feet, ladybugs trying to find a place to rest in the grass, and bumblebees barely able to lift themselves into the air trying to find the perfect flower to pollinate. I hear birds singing a beautiful song. And then I see the dark storm clouds roll in and I think fall is on its way and all this beauty will fade away.

Green Grass Mahalie Hill, Grade 5 Boise I sit there smiling at the children playing and yet I don’t challenge myself to join. They are playing tag in the big field. All of the grass is green, not one spot of brown. I guess it’s from all the joy of them smiling all the time. All that must make the grass grow strong, not a single weed, no mud, just green, healthy grass. Then I realize every child makes the grass grow a little healthier all the time. So, I decide, if I join, I am helping a little bit of this fine green place called earth.

Writing Wild!

Bugs Sebastian Houk, Grade 5 Boise The bug that crawls in a creepy way The bug that flies and stings people The bug that sucks blood The bug that always lands on food The bugs that have two hooks at the back of them The bugs that organize by ranks The bug that carries a kazoo The bug that belongs to a church The bug that is on a trampoline They all creep in a scary way Or fly in a scary way They sting or bite They come in various colors

Trapped Rebekah Hubbell, Grade 6 Star You might get out through all the waves and rocks. But it will be hard, Because wars will pull you down, And the rocks will scrape you. You might get out by the wind and rain. But the rain will soak you, And the wind could blow you the wrong way. You might get out by the sun and the moon. But the sun could burn you, And the moon could shine too brightly.

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Solid Jusung Lee, Grade 4 Boise I am a disfigured form that sits still. I am everywhere yet not noticed as important. People walk around me And carelessly kick me, Sometimes through anger and hatred. Thankfully, God has given me the gift Of hardness So if I am big enough Whoever dares kick me, Is burdened with the pain Of a stubbed toe. Sometimes people look tiny. Sometimes people look big. Sometimes I have deep crevices within me Sometimes I am in one’s shoes. But I am one thing, A rock.

Writing Wild!

One More Carnivore Tatum MacMillan, Grade 6 Boise Hands, feet Lost to Paws Minty breath to Blood breath Tail from No tail Whiskers Sharp eyes Skin to Stripes No fear Killer Pointy ears Sharp eyes Loud growls Black nose Caesar salad And pizza changed To antelope, buffalo, and chimpanzee Tonight I feast on zebra

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desire of dirt Tessa Park, Grade 6 Boise i lay there black, dark, ugly, bare basically unwanted hard, lonely, wet dry i longed for grass seeds to be carefully planted but no one cared i was like a flower blooming at first ugly then someone who cared made it bloom i have no one who cares no one to make me bloom if only some seeds in the wind would come along and transform me

Joy Sarah Sanders, Grade 5 Boise Joyful of spring Joy when I hear a clank of a pan Joy when with animals Joy on vacations Joy of water Joy with friends Joy when with family Joy when I feel loved

Writing Wild!

Peace Madison Binegar, Grade 9 Boise Peace is a feeling that for some is hard to find Peace cannot be obtained if it is thought too hard about One cannot always choose when to feel peace It comes at random moments in life and is unexpected Peace can come at the chirp of a bird Peace can come while lying in the sun Peace can come while you’re warm inside as rain patters all around you Peace can come with a goodbye Peace comes when something’s been completed Peace can come in silence Peace can come with noises Peace can come with the excitement of adrenaline Peace can come in the stillness of a life Peace will only last if you are at Peace with yourself

Four o’clock Karoline Woodhead, Grade 7 Eagle I look at my phone; it’s four o’clock in the morning. The red sand feels cool beneath my fingers. Across the path I can see the outline of the dark cliff. The only light comes from the moon and houses on the mesa. Cold wind makes the sand dance around me.

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Fighter Liz Miller, Grade 9 Boise Shed the pale, thin skin of humanity. Bend the spine harden the muscles of my legs. My hair grows coarse and thick, covering my body on all fours. My nose elongates to a snout. I throw my head back and howl. Howl my challenge, bare my teeth to the bear. I snarl and leap: my teeth are wicked sharp. I will not flee, I am a warrior, fighting for what is mine you who dare to challenge

Writing Wild!

my right will feel my teeth, my claws. It is my very nature to attack, to protect what is mine.

The Cliff KariAnna Kuklinski, Grade 7 Boise I am a cliff. Day after day, I see nothing but the pond, With bullfrogs croaking endlessly, sunrise to sunset. If I had a head I could turn, I could turn, I could see more. Is this all the world has to offer for me? I can still remember, a long time ago, When I was a dropoff in a lake When all I could see was water, Sunlight barely touching my sandstone walls, And brightly colored fish swam about me, Hardly taking notice of my beautiful layers. Now, the lake is gone, and I am just a rock, Where people etch names into my stone, And where birds fly endlessly in and out of my holes. In years to come, I will be just a hill, a rock, And nothing to remember me by.

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Giving of the Butterfly Rebecca Ma, Grade 8 Meridian May you be Able to fly anywhere. May you live A full life. May you find Plenty of nectar And shelter. I give to you The blessing Of the wind, Helping others. May your Cretaceous color show Vibrantly. So to you We give you A blessing.

Writing Wild!

Midnight Snack Jacob Miller, Grade 8 Eagle My fingers meld together, my feet following suit. My limbs shrink, my hairs turn into feathers. My vision is enhanced, as if I was seeing for the first time. My knees sprout stubby legs, four talons on each leg. Hunger hits me with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. I try walking, but my balance is thrown off by this ridiculously large tail. Just for fun, I spread my arms and push down. I feel my weight reduce slightly. After I flap three more times, I am airborne, soaring through the moonlit night like a shooting star. Out of the corner of my eye I see movement. I swoop down to investigate. To my surprise, I see a field mouse scuttling along. The hunger takes over and I steeply dive towards it. I feel ashamed at first, my talons stained with the life of another creature. Then I realize it gives me life as I take its. I fly to a telephone pole and swallow my bounty, then take off into the night.

Inside a Narrow Leaved Coneflower Emily Baca, Grade 6 Boise Go inside a Narrow Leaved Coneflower See the vibrant colors of green, red, pink Climb through the long stem to see above everything Explore those soft hairy leaves they are so soft you can take a nap in them Or you can relax under the warmth of the pretty petals that smell so wonderful If you feel like hiding from bees go inside the secure stem but be sure you stay away from those prickly edges Once the bees are gone you can go stick your head out to hear the mourning doves or feel the warmth of the sun

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Me as a River Birch Madeline Norris, Grade 6 Happy Valley, OR I stood bored, stretching out my branches. If only people would realize how hot it is and sit under my shade, suddenly a woman holding an infant and child came to me. The woman and baby sat close to me! All of a sudden, the child picked up a stick and started poking me. “Don’t hurt the tree,” the woman defended. “Mmm… she, er, it smells like pine.” The child walked forward. “No…” he said. “It feels like paper.” Personally I don’t care if people only care about my trunk, branches, or aroma. I’m just a tree that loves company. I know that this family will come back every day. That’s all I want.

Monsterville, Idaho Lowell Hutton, Grade 5 Boise Once upon a time, there was a place called Monsterville, Idaho. Everyone in the city was a monster. Their favorite food was fried monkey brains, and they liked to play baseball. In baseball, the ball was a toasted chicken head and the bases were animal bones. On Saturday nights, all the monsters went to the cinema to their favorite movie Monsters versus Aliens. One Saturday night, in the middle of the movie, it stopped and the screen went black. All the lights in the whole city went out and so did everything else. Something happened that had never happened before. The power went out. No monster knew who had caused this. They had to search using only flashlights to find out what had happened. They searched for hours but found nothing. Finally, they saw something they had never seen before. They saw a telephone pole. That’s where they were getting their power. Below it they saw a human. The human was cutting all the wires below the telephone pole. The king monster killed the person and ate him. Soon, the monsters repaired the wires, and Monsterville had power again.

Writing Wild!

But It Takes a Goddess Sasha Daniels, Grade 6 Boise You may think it a lie, But it takes a Goddess, To teach you how to fly. My brother tries to pick a leaf, But it takes a perfect goddess, For it to come right back to life. As I hear the sounds of cars, I happen to see some metal bars, But it takes a goddess To see the sight of stars. When I see the big huge jail, I run and pick up my pail, But it takes a goddess, To make the world rain hail.

Quiet Denae Carson, Grade 7 Boise Close your eyes and relax. See with your ears and listen with your mind The eerie silence settles down, falling on everyone around. Shuffling of feet. whispering of wind, when will this time of silence end?

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Wind Wish John J. Lee, Grade 5 Boise Once upon a time there was an owl and a badger. They were both ordered by the Lion King to fight to the death in a quarry. The winner would get a wish-come-true, and the legendary wind spirit would grant it. The badger was reckless and headstrong, but powerful and fast. The owl was old and frail, but extremely wise. The quarry had three trees: oak, maple, and rowan. “Begin!” the Lion King called. The owl flew on the oak and began taunting the badger. The badger roared while tearing down the oak. It fell, but before the badger could yell his triumph the oak fell on badger cracking his skull and killing him. The wind spirit appeared and granted the owl’s wish to give the badger life, because of the owl’s mercy the wind granted the owl more wisdom.

Death duh da da duh Jessica Roman, Grade 5 Star That night, the night he left, rewinds in my mind. I remember the calls, I remember when he put his hand on my shoulder and said, “you’re daddy’s little girl.” Yeah well that’s over, you didn’t say that one day you’ll just leave, I mean us playing in the grass, and climbing up trees or when you got me My Little Pony when I was nine and a half, but I still loved you, then wind took you.

Writing Wild!

Alone in the Desert Abby Mangum, Grade 5 Boise I am a girl who was born in the desert. As I grow older, I go outside more often. I’m given a pocketknife, and soon my family goes camping in the high desert, near Mt. Borah. The day we leave is bad one for me. My family had let me sleep in my own tent, and when my family packs the car to go home, I’m still asleep in my tent. They leave without me. They had told me to get up at a reasonable time like 9:30 a.m. I get up at 11:00 a.m. and my family is gone. I panic. I run around in circles. Later I make dinner: smokies and boiled water. They both come from my cooler. After dinner I go hiking to look for food. It is pitch black when I turn around to walk back to camp. The noises of wolves howling and owls hooting frighten me. I think I hear footsteps when branches break, but then I realize it’s just me. When I get back to camp I trip over my cooler. It reminds me that I should hide it from bears. I’m not in a forest though. I bring my cooler in my tent with me, just in case. I fall asleep instantly. I wake up in the middle of the night. A brown bear is nudging me. He’s growling because he’s unable to open the cooler. I sit up slowly and the bear scratches me on the arm. I’m tough, though. I can’t cry. I can do only one thing if I don’t want to be injured: give him my food. I do so, and when the bear is satisfied, he walks off. The next day my family comes and rescues me.

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Four a.m. Lindsay Eng, Grade 9 Boise All I see is the outline of the cliffs, but everything else is darkness. And all I can do is sit frozen and stiff in my state. Not frozen by cold, but by fear. I can’t hear a lot over the sound of my heart, but the crickets are loud and clear. If I weren’t so scared, I would be soothed by the dark nature around me. But too scared to do anything but just sit there, I didn’t appreciate the lovely sounds of the insects. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see the plants around me. “Cheat grass,” I noted to myself calming a little. I don’t know what I was scared of, but now I was gradually getting used to my surroundings. “Beautiful” I whispered to no one in particular. And it was beautiful. I recognized rose hip, sage, cheat grass and bachelor buttons, and much more that I didn’t remember at that moment. I was completely relaxed now, in full satisfaction. “Beautiful,” I whispered.

Blindfolded Sierra Benner, Grade 7 Boise If you walked in the foothills then suddenly go under a canopy of shady maple trees, you are bound to discover that the temperature dramatically changes, and you feel cold and may need to put on your fleece. If you just stopped and listened for a moment, you would hear the dancing above and around you, and, weirdly enough hear music in the distance. Without sight all the other senses are sharpened like somebody flipped a magical switch and ta-da! You can hear every little creak, smell the light aroma of sage brush, taste the minty taste of your tooth paste. When you touch the tree branch, you will be astounded to find that each crevice has its own personality and shape. You would see that the leaves have veins that travel through the whole leaf, if you looked close enough. When you take the blindfold off, you suddenly realize the beauty that surrounds you.

Writing Wild!

Cherry Necklace Monica Rommens, Grade 7 Boise Trapped on a silver chain the silver paint on the leaf rusts and chips in little places But still plenty there. The leaf on the left— a streak of rust flies by. The stem, split in two like a silver wishbone. On the end of the silver stems, are rubies. shining like Mother Earth’s blood. Just two drops of her veins. They dripped out six years ago. Thus makes the Cherry Necklace.

American Kestrel Lilly Montague, Grade 8 Boise Over in an open meadow Sparrow hawk looks for sparrows Tilts its pretty reddish head Spies an insect down below Drops gracefully onto its prey

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Lost on the Trail Brian Thrasher, Grade 7 Boise We were in the forest when it happened. We realized our tour guide didn’t know where we were on the trails. “We must have taken a wrong turn somewhere,” was his only justification for the predicament he had forced upon us. We were lost. We tried to remember ways to get back. The green moss on the side of a Norway pine pointed us in the right direction. We saw a canopy with some missing bark, some small footprints obviously made from a smaller mammal than ourselves, but bigger than someone we would want to fight, and a squirrel, who was unfortunately no longer alive to the dismay of his mate but the joy of the acorns. These subtle but distinct clues pointed towards one thing: An animal. Most likely one who would not be kind. We came to a fork in the trail. Of course, none of us could remember which prong of the fork to take in order to head to civilization. That’s when we saw it. A fox, a huge fox, the size of a Great Dane. He was on the road of the trail to our left. His sleek white and orange fur shined in the sunlight, and so did his ferocious, bloodstained teeth. His eyes glowed when he saw us. Only his tail waved in the wind, the rest frozen on the hot summer afternoon. We quickly decided to go on the trail to the right, to avoid his teeth. It turned out that the right trail was the right trail. We soon reached humans, and I was glad we did. I planned to stay with them for a while. There were two things I didn’t do. I didn’t plan to get near that hungry fox again, and I did not tip that incompetent tour guide.

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When I was Blind Savannah Gamel, Grade 7 Boise The sweet succulent smell of maple filled my nostrils. I put my hands out and walked forward. My hands pressed against the scratchy, rough bark. I couldn’t see. I didn’t need to see. Blackness was all around me, but I knew it wasn’t really black. I could smell the maple tree. I could taste the nature all around me. My hands skimmed the flawless tree again. “Chicka-dee-dee-dee-dee,” I looked up knowing I wouldn’t see anything, but it was a habit. “Chicka-dee-dee-dee-dee,” I heard the sound again and again. It was like a broken record that kept playing over and over. I felt the tree and stepped onto a limb, slowly I climbed the large maple. The chickadee sound was getting closer. I knew that after all this time I must be very far up. Then I heard a flutter and the chickadee sound was gone. I felt around some more, but the branches disappeared. I was stuck in the giant maple.

4:00 a.m. Taryn Hadfield, Grade 7 Meridian Annemarie stared up at the swirls of constellations fading in the morning sky. She didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to keep on listening to this night music: the crickets creaking in the sagebrush, the stream giggling over the pebbles, and the applause of olive trees, all silver, in the moonlight. The sun should never rise over these hills, but it would. Annemarie tilted her head towards her grandmother who had been so open and kind. She tucked a dark strand of hair out away from her freckled face. “I can’t believe I hated this place. It’s so…beautiful and quiet…and peaceful. I’ll miss the foothills,” Annemarie sighed. “I never want to go to Vegas,” she whispered and hollowly glanced at the burgundy cliffs, not really taking in what she saw. “But I have to.”

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Silence and Noise Alicia Norman, Grade 9 Boise Silence What would happen if the crickets and bugs all stopped? What would happen? Would the world come to an end? Would we be deaf or would it just be silent? Silent with no sound but your breathing. What would happen if factories and cars just stopped? What would happen? Would the world come to an end? Some people think it might. But, it would just be silent. Noise If we just listened to all the noises Noises of the world We would hear more noises than we need to. Cars going by Bike bells going off Machines working Too many noises in one place.

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Looking Down and Looking Up Lydia Montague, Grade 8 Boise Looking Down I stand for a moment then look down, just look down, taking in the ground. There’s a lot more on the ground than I expected. Sure, at first it all just looks like a layer of brown mush and decaying leaves and sticks sitting dejectedly on the ground, but if you get a closer look, you can see a world that you might not of noticed before. I crouched down to examine the ground. Sticks and twigs of all different shades of brown were the first things I noticed, then, broken leaves of wilted green and drab brown. An ant scurried by, a leaf bigger than it was in its mouth. Looking Up I looked up, past the main trunk and reaching branches to the bright canopy of leaves far above where no one could possibly reach. Well, maybe the birds, but still…Anyway, I took in the leaves, their shape reminding me of the stars I loved to draw. The newest leaves were bright green, reaching forward proudly while the older ones almost seemed to sigh as the wind blew.

Above and Below Arianna LaChance, Grade 8 Boise The ground smelled musty compared to the fresh air. Rotting leaves cover the ground. It’s like they have their own world beneath the leaves. Dirt gives homes to a life force that in ways are stronger than the human race. As the leaves quiver in the wind, Birds soar overhead and the blue sky is almost cloudless. I hear the sound of feet hitting the ground and I know in between both worlds, the ground and the sky, is where I belong.

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Silence Lee Sullivan, Grade 7 Boise Silence at last, John thought as he flopped onto the living room couch. After a few attempts at sleep, he spotted a book on the black oak table before him. Why hadn’t I noticed that before, he thought, Oh well, it’s a book and it’s there to read; it is completely quiet, there is a body in the kitchen, and the house smells of burnt marshmallow, it is the perfect condition for reading. He picked up the flimsy thing and scanned the cover, Silence, it read, the best book that doesn’t exist. Ha, he thought, what a great starting gag, however, I can’t help but think I’ve heard that joke before. He opened it, skipped the first few pages and reached chapter one. It was titled “Flying”. He stopped, but not very long, maybe a minute or so, until he managed to express what he felt in word form, what does flying have to do with silence, was the extremely disappointing product of sixty seconds of thought. The result even startled John who never feels this with things he does, for example, during a school poem recital he had cheated by imprinting the words on his eyes, but they were difficult to read and ended up asking the audience what they thought of the Art of War for his ten minutes. He kept the whole thing very conversational and even got a few teachers to become absorbed in with what he was saying. Absolutely amazing. However, this particular incident did provoke a reaction from him. I thought I was at least slightly intelligent, was the product of neurons firing through John’s brain a few moments later, but taking a full sixty seconds to develop something like that is just… unacceptable! Finally, John decided that the book at least deserved the first paragraph to be read before he made his decision whether or not he wanted to continue. At the end of the chapter, he was wondering what the title “Flying” had to do with anything. He tried again to make a connection, but failed in the most humiliating way possible and ended with , Perhaps Carolyn Hokk was flying when she wrote the chapter, but a bird flew into the window and exploded , and she thought maybe explosions had nothing to do with silence after all, therefore she decided flying would fit nicely if the person reading was also reading about why monkeys could fly and, at the same time, eating a plate of snails covered

Writing Wild!

in a thick layer of flour dough with candied dice on top. Instead of soaring through the air, it discussed why silence was important to the human mind. “Chapter 2: Why?” he thought made sense. In place of how it’s now why. However, he soon discovered three sentences into the chapter, that it was discussing why goats have fur. Deciding against trying to figure out how goat fur connected to the philosophy of silence, John closed the book and carefully placed it back onto the table; hoping that performing this act slowly would somehow prevent any further strange occurrences. As he gave one passing glance at the book he noticed a warning label. He couldn’t resist giving the loosely bound bunch of paper one more chance. “Warning,” John read aloud to no one other than himself, or so he hoped, “reading Silence in silence can lead to internal bleeding, brain damage, loss of hearing, foot loss, kidney failure, liver failure, heart failure, heart disease, severe schizophrenia, telepathy, type two diabetes, type one diabetes hallucinations, O.F.S. (Over Flying Syndrome), R.L.S. (Restless Leg Syndrome) super strength, cannibalism, loss of sight, serious decline of thought capabilities, paranoia, multiple personality disorder, bipolar disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, awesomeness, arachnophobia, claustrophobia, triphobia, quadphobia, monophobia, loss of existence, lack of existence, atomic displacement disorder, flammability, mild standard insanity, standard standard insanity severe standard insanity, extreme standard insanity, super-awesome standard insanity, gangrene, abnormal love of wood, bibliophobia, skin cancer, lung cancer, lung disease, liver disease, and brain loss. Underlined conditions can occur if you have any medical history. Underlined and bolded will most likely occur, if not you have probably developed awesomeness. Bold words can occur if you can win monopoly at least three out of ten times against a super computer. Words with none of the listed attributes will occur if you are a failure. One, a few, a majority of, or all of the conditions can develop. Carolyn Hokk can not be held responsible for any of the above conditions.” John laughed at the very end, but that didn’t last long because he developed atomic displacement disorder and his atoms were spread across the universe and other dimensions while a mini black hole opened up where he used to be and destroyed the Earth.

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Morphing Diana Lu, Grade 6 Boise I wonder about the flowers growing little kids picking family members away. What does that feel like? I wonder if the flowers get tired of the lovely fragrance we all adore, if they ever need a break. I wonder if the lilacs ever tire of water, the fresh droplets falling on their petals one after another. I wonder if they are against the bugs that dine on them, the bugs that bite our skin. I wonder if the flowers hurt opening their petals for the first time. I wonder if we can be their friends, someone to care and understand, someone they can trust, and pour their hearts out to. I wonder if they feel intimidated about us, giant monsters ripping away family, caging them apart.

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I wonder how it would be to be torn, and dare I say it, eaten. I start to imagine their pain. Fingers ripped off one by one, torn away from friends as my legs separate from my body. Why would we humans do that? Why, because we’re nature’s biggest predator, the destroyer.

Foothills Stew Maraya Hanson, Grade 8 Boise 1 Handful Currants 6 Bachelor Buttons 1 Lichen (optional) 9 Blades of Cheat Grass 3 Handfuls of Red Cliff Soil 1 Whole Bush of Bitterbrush 1 c Stream Water First, bring the stream water to a boil in the hot sun. Then, add the 9 blades of cheat grass. Before putting in the cliff soil, make sure there are no clumps. Then, shred the bitterbrush and add it in. Now, add the crushed currants for a little flavor and the bachelor buttons to make it presentable. Lastly, add the lichen for that special zing. Once it is bubbling or looks sick, it is done. Eat it with something edible.

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Wondering the World Sara Matlock, Grade 5 Boise As I climbed the tallest tree I could find I became a monkey and I wondered what it would be like to have a home up here to have aching limbs and to have to gather everything and know the right places to find food and supplies. When I got to the top I became a bird and wondered what it would be like to find yourself gliding through the air weightless on the wind. As I climbed down I became a snake and wondered what it would be like to glide along the ground and to be eye level with the tiny creatures scurrying around. And as I stood up I became myself, a human, and wondered if the creatures I wonder about wonder about me as I come here and wonder every day.

Writing Wild!

The Best Vacation Lauren Tate, Grade 4 Boise My favorite vacation was when we went to DisneyLand. We saw a real cactus, except my brother, Miles, thought it was fake, so he touched it and pricked his finger. And since he’s five, he started crying. We got him a band-aid, but he kept on crying. We got a doctor, and it turned out fine, since he got a lollipop. My favorite rides were the Pirates of the Caribbean and It’s a Small World. They were both boat rides, but It’s a Small World was less terrifying. Pirates of the Caribbean had two parts that went down and a pirate that was sitting in a bridge. I was afraid it would fall because it was moving. I also liked this one where you would get to drive fake cars. But my sister is horrible at driving fake cars. She kept on bumping into me. We took the shuttle to our hotel and to DisneyLand. When we found out there was a downtown Disney we got a souvenir day. Then we left on Friday at 12:00 a.m.

When I Say Goodnight Anneka Lewernz, Grade 4 Boise The silence when I get up all sleepy and restless. The silence when I eat and wonder, “What am I going to do today?” The silence when the wind blows in my face. Silence when I bike to camp with Lily. When I walk to school tall and proud. Silence when I talk to my friends and listen to them. When I say goodnight and go to sleep.

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Becoming a Piece of Sagebrush Alyssa Lu, Grade 4 Boise Sit there on a hill as if you were sitting at a never ending assembly, imagining the sounds of a redwing blackbird as you are waiting to stand up. Water trickles onto your leaves while you smell like perfume, tastes fresh to your leaves while you watch squirrels climb trees. You wonder if you will ever be able to climb or run away like an animal, but no, you have to be rooted in the ground day after day. The smell of rain comes but you can’t smell yourself or anything else; you see people having picnics under big trees when you are a small bush. The pain of not being able to hear or touch is dreadful, all you can do about it is just sit there waiting for anything. All you can do is wait to be moved by the wind.

Any Fool Can Get Into A Black Hole Daniel Edgerton-Dickey, Grade 5 Brunswick, ME Any fool can get into a black hole but it takes billions of years to get out. You might meet some alien or a chicken or see some baboons or fried fish with ketchup and potato chips and some light. Bring lots of sunglasses because there are stars in there and there is an endless drop.

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Being a Tree Isabel Forbes, Grade 5 Boise My arms splay out in every direction. I have a thousand fingers. I always have on a green coat. What am I? I am a fir tree. My branches make a dome around me. My spines are my pride and joy, for they never turn brown. As I look around all I see are my brothers and sisters. Then I look down and I see a silvery bush, its sweet scent wafting up to me. I fall asleep and when I wake a white blanket covers my limbs. I look around, up and down and see our world has turned white. Then I fall asleep and forget all those things.

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The Perfect Day Amelia Lewis, Grade 6 Boise The silence of watering a rose bush that the sunshine glows through. The silence of watching the sun rise up over the mountains.

The silence of rain pouring over the forest.

The silence of hiking on snow and ice to see a misty view. The silence of a meadow surrounded by forest in the spring.

The silence of sun shining through the evergreens.

The silence of a clear, cold creek in the summer.

The silence of a pine caked in snow.

The silence of a butterfly on a bluebell.

The silence of a honeybee on a cherry tree.

The silence of the sky dotted with little white clouds.

The silence of a willow tree touching a stream.

The silence of a diamond glistening in the light.

The silence of being with those you love.

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The Long Silence Trey Jones, Grade 6 Boise The silence of the football mid air. The silence of sitting alone. The silence of trees. The silence of air. The silence of breathing. The silence of walking. The silence of the hall. The silence of the classroom. The silence of the graveyard.

The Sea Grace Lane, Grade 6 Boise The wave, going in and out Sprinkled gently by foam Sand, smooth as sugar Gently brushing up against me The wind, cool and sweet Bringing the smell of nearby cotton candy My mouth waters

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Silences at Night Lillian Gary, Grade 4 Boise When I hear the silence of the iron going over my clothes it feels like water flowing over my feet at the beach. As I hear the silence of the rain stopping I feel a thought of relief go through my head. When I feel the silence of Mom thinking it’s like taking the first bite of my bagel. The silence of my eraser scribbling out a word is like feeling a sneeze coming. The silence after someone opens a present is like drinking a gulp of ice cold water. The silence ended with a bright light through my window.

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Passing It On Jared Reichle, Grade 6 Boise Dizzy on the street coming home from a special place getting ready for something to happen straight away stars and lights and everything goes dark any second now one eye is pure black one eye is as yellow as the sun I fall on the ground head slamming on the concrete this moment Stars fade away The lights turn to shades of green and blue the hand helps me up

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Pandas in the Garden Kayley McDonald, Grade 5 Meridian Chapter 1 Long ago in China lived a group of pandas in a big area surrounded by bamboo. The Chinese people were very interested in plants. They decided to make a garden. To the pandas it was like being kept in a zoo. The people had no idea the pandas were there, so they went right ahead in making a garden. The rest of the people thought that they had too many gardens. They thought that it was like living in a forest. The Chinese built the garden right around the pandas, who actually thought it was nice, like living in their own paradise. Meanwhile, the people in China decided to go to the new garden. As the people entered the garden the pandas woke up from their nap. They ran and hid in the bamboo. Then a little child who was as tired as a sloth found the bamboo and made himself at home with the pandas. Then he fell asleep in the humid air. Chapter 2 The child slept soundly like a bear hibernating. The parents of the child found the panda. “There are pandas in the garden!� shouted the father. Then the people got an idea. They would take down the bricks surrounding the garden so the pandas would live in the garden. The pandas could leave and enter the garden whenever they wanted. The pandas loved the garden, and it came to be known as Pandas in the Garden.

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As the Wind Blows Spencer Cuppage, Grade 3 Boise The water trickles down the fountain As the birds sing their songs. The leaves fall down down down As the butterflies fly. The chipmunks play As the grass sways With the sunlit flowers As the wind blows.

Out in the Woods Aubrey Dodge, Grade 7 Boise The dwindling daisies were white with satisfaction as they mingled in the whistling wind. I carefully observed the wild roses. They smelled sweet as a red Sunkist apple. The wild waters of the lake twisted and tangled in the soft wind smelling of orchids to-die-for. A ladybug, red as a rose, landed on my arm and startled me. It gracefully swept off my arm. The colorless crane’s bill was plain and bright. I sat there and thought about the pink and butter-yellow lilies that sat in the murky pond. It was a magical moment. Nothing seemed to matter. It was wonderful to be here alone. All the time in the world could be wasted here. The bright purple/green of the lavender flared and burned my nose as I picked the familiar scent out. Good luck surviving in the beautiful pine-scented woods.

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Pond Magic Katarina Schwartsman, Grade 6 Boise A pond’s reflection, engulfed by the garden. The pond is a field of lily pads and algae. Gazing into the depths, rocks, water striders and tadpoles greet you like friends. The sound of the water feature calms you. Then you walk away, the magic and light fade. A water cascade, now a trickle, lily pads and algae are green blurs. You return, and the magic welcomes you like an old friend. Willow leaves glitter, and the water makes intricate patterns and images, but soon it is lost. Now it waits for someone to discover its magic.

Take Me to a Place Michelle Belden, Grade 4 Middleton Take me to a place where bees sing while they work, where when you are bored the flowers talk to you, where the leaves change every minute, where the daffodils grow taller than a maple tree. Take me to a place where gardens come to life, where wishes come true, where rain water never falls unless the sun is out. Take me to a place where the roses sprout to say “hello.�

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A Death March Benjamin Huang, Grade 6 Boise The casket slowly moves by Carried by uniformed men Surrounded by spirits of the dead. Somber people walk behind it Flickering form bones to flesh Bones to flesh. As people move by I realize We are all soldiers Trudging through life. A funeral is when we see The human part of us, For we are all animals, greedy. Death seems unfair But it is more of a celebration A job well done.

Any Fool Can Get into a Mall Audrey Rustad, Grade 6 Boise Any fool can get into a mall, but only a kid can get out. You may make it through Dillard’s, but you’re bound to get stuck in Macy’s. I hope your mom doesn’t go to the Gap, because she might stay there for a week. You walk right past a cookie store. The smell overwhelms you. You ask, Mom, can I please have one? She says, Honey we’re almost to J.C. Penney. Mom, I don’t think I can take anymore! But wait, there is Pottery Barn. I’ve been wanting a new kitchen knife. Then finally you’re almost out of the mall, but then your mom sees William Sonoma. You say, Please Mom, can we just get out of this mall?

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Any Fool Can Get Into A… Allie Ogden, Grade 5 Boise Any fool can get into a classroom but you need good grades to get out of it. What’s true of school is true of stories and books, of course, recess and brunch also have consequences. When teachers start teaching through math and science and social studies too, you’ll need to be a good learner, a teacher or a poet to get out of it. Look at the students talking out in the middle of the classroom. They look so crazy and eager talking in there where the students hardly move. You might get into all the work and stuff so you could start talking again but when you’ve tried all you could enough to do your work the right way, that’s when the fun began. Unless you’re a good learner, teacher or a poet, you’ll talk, you’ll talk. Any fool can get into a classroom but it takes a good learner to get out of it. After Jack Spicer

The Fox Matt Smith, Grade 5 Boise In the back of his den the head of a mouse, a beak of a chicken and the bones of a rabbit. Now the rusted coat of the red fox waits for its next victim.

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The Bees and the Bear Emma DeAngeli, Grade 6 Boise The grasshoppers jump before my eyes as I enjoy my berries. The river flows below me; I have climbed a tree. The busy bees buzz into their places in their hive. Goodbye, bees. I long for some honey in that hive. “Bee,” I asked bravely, “will you loan me some honey? I long for something sweet.” “No!” the grumpy bee said while I started to climb down. “What must I do to get some honey?” “Go to my cousin’s hive; he has plenty to spare.” So I headed off. There I was, searching for the bee’s cousin’s hive when I saw an abandoned hive. I decided I should get honey from there. I quickly grabbed the hive like a cheetah attacks its prey. I finally got my honey.

The Apollo 11 Name Braedon Higby, Grade 5 Meridian Braedon is the tall Saturn V reaching for the moon. It is mission control offering advice. It is the command module offering safety. It is the tang, so sweet and citrus-y. It is like a rough moon rock rubbing against the glove of an astronaut. It is the silence of the moon, always there, never ending. It is the bystanders, watching anxiously, wishing the astronauts luck. It is the sea, welcoming them home.

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The Glow Worm Ann Lawrence, Grade 5 Boise I wish I were a glow worm, A glow worm’s never glum, “Cause how can you be grumpy When the sun shines out your bum?

Night Owl Kyra Venecia, Grade 6 Meridian As the sky darkens and the first owl sings, night has just begun and it is a beautiful thing. A bird’s wings flap and off it goes, to a tree branch nobody knows. The farm owl dives down, down to the ground and picks up a field mouse. Its talons grasp it and it flies off, slowly disappearing into the night. Then I become an owl, turning my head to see the beautiful world at night, hearing the loud yet peaceful cricket chirp in my ear. It is cold but I am wearing a feather pillow wrapped around me. I am warm sitting here still as a pebble, untouched, smooth, and soft. Wind blows and feathers fly, drift slowly in the night. They move as if they were drawing a picture in the air. As they settle the picture is done.

Writing Wild!

Boulder Jake Gruber, Grade 6 Meridian Still, standing and silent, immovable and cold. Unmoving, unseeing, no breathing, no hearing, only knowing, knowing what is happening around you. Knowing when a cricket chirps or a rabbit hops. So big, yet small. Unused, insignificant. The world moves around you; even the trees rustle. All except you. Sitting there, not seeing, not hearing, not feeling, not tasting, not smelling. Only knowing. A boulder. Only knowing and nothing else. A boulder.

So Many Sounds Jesse Remeis, Grade 6 Boise So many sounds… The sound of grass crunching, flattening beneath the feet of passersby. Dogs collar tags jangle like sleigh bells, their paws wandering, exploring. The bluebird’s sweet cry ringing through the land. You can’t hear the noisy cars traversing over gravel, or dirt, nor the racket of the city. All is peaceful in the Foothills. The flowing river, a stream of hope. A soft breeze caressing the trees sends the leaves aflutter. The occasional biker riding over rocks and dirt. The mosquitoes soft buzz as they search for their next meal. The mourning dove’s bittersweet cry, matching the coyote’s mournful howl. The foothills are filled with sounds of peace. So many sounds…

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Ruining the Silence Hayden Cooper, Grade 5 Boise The silence of a moonlit sky broken by a baby crying. The silence of a squirrel running across the street. The silence of a classroom working. The silence before a loud question. The silence of a mourning dove, waiting on a tree branch. The silence before a twig snapping.

I Hear Nature Josie Englert, Grade 5 Boise I hear the rustle of wind in the tall trees and grasses, the low rumble of a truck as it meanders its way down the winding dirt road. I can hear the flowers talking to each other in their chipperish voices. They talk about the people that walk past everyday, and how they wish they would just go away and let them be. I hear the dull-colored sagebrush snoring, aware of nothing other than their colorful dreams. The sage never wakes up, it smells good for all of eternity. The pine trees seem to walk with me because they are everywhere I turn. I speak with nature when nature speaks with me.

Writing Wild!

I Hear, I Listen Kendall Kirkpatrick, Grade 6 Star I hear the swallowtail chirp in the most peaceful way, not trying to disturb anything. I listen to the wind cry telling me rain is coming. It’s before noon and the mourning dove tells its story to the world. The creek trickles by and animals stop to get some rest. The cotton-tailed rabbit finds a friend and they wander into the hills. The hawks soar and cry with the wind as if they had become one. The celebration made by the coyotes and foxes is an orchestra of howls and cries. Mice ponder the idea of going, for they may become a meal. I finally hear the great-horned owl’s gentle hoot. Every dream of each boy and girl in the town below reaches the crests and are pointed a direction to go. These are the pathways of hope, happiness, love, peacefulness and sorrow. These are the foothills.

The Quietness of Silence Naia Robinson, Grade 5 Boise There’s a silence before the ghost jumps out at you and before the roller coaster turns the loop. There’s the silence right before the doctor comes through the door. The silence after a bad joke. The quietness as you listen in your bed and wonder if you’re not alone. There’s the painful silence for ten minutes in the airport on 9/11. Silence has opened the world to the unknown. Silence.

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As I Hear the Mourning Dove Cry Allie Martin, Grade 6 Eagle As I hear the mourning dove cry I stroll these grounds. To what extent do these creatures live? I wonder… If you don’t listen, it is silent If you strain…a whole other world opens up. An adventure, a story, beckons you in. I do not, but I do know where I am. The tiny mushrooms stretch for the golden sun. It whispers to them, “come…come.” A bumblebee buzzes by me, as a cricket cricks to the day. A peace spreads over these grounds, and before the sun stretched its warm arms, the world changes as I hear the bluebird sing. The leaves form a carpet under a dusty willow. As they crunch under my feet, the wind whistles through the green leaves, as I hear the bumblebee buzz. The hills roll, the kestrels call to the night. I listen closely, hardly to the day The gravel crunches, the rain falls as I hear the mourning dove cry.

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The Wound Healer Jordan Boersig, Grade 6 Boise My petals are white like the winter snow. My head is a round, bouncing ball. I live in the foothills. I smell like candy canes. I can stop bleeding with my buds. I hear the wind blowing through my petals. I am yarrow.

I Make Up My Own Mess of Knots and Tie Them Together Chloe Manning-Floch, Grade 4 Boise The silence of a crystal glass, halfway filled with wine, the silence of the flowers grown by glowing sun. The silence of a baby’s tear, of a ripe, green apple of the quiet passing year. The silence of somebody weaving. The silence of an eagle’s glide of a still, blue pond of the magic in the breeze, helping you listen.

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I Am A Willow Ellie Hunt, Grade 5 Boise I am a willow. Every night I listen to the wind. Every morning I hear the kestrels crying. They sound like trumpets. I like to stay near the creek, and drink its cool water. I am a willow. I am a willow, standing proudly on the ground. My leaves green-apple green. My branches look like broken fingers, white and black. They sway in the wind. I am a willow.

Silence Breaks Rachel Henderson, Grade 5 Payette The silence of everybody waiting for the cheesy pizza cooking in the oven. The silence of the mossy green pond waiting for a bullfrog to come take a bath. The silence of a pink newborn baby ready to be born. The silence of the stars in the moonlit sky. The silence of the groom waiting for his lovely bride to stride gracefully down the aisle. The silence of the owl swooping down to catch its prey. The silence of the water flowing down the river, but the waterfall breaks the silence.

Writing Wild!

The Seasons Change Lily Zimmer, Grade 6 Boise My long, boney twigs sway in the wind, my figure is chilled by the morning of the cold December snow, everything around me, the sagebrush, wild flax, wild mustard and bitter brush is covered in a thick, white blanket But seasons change. The flowers bloom yellow, purple, pink, orange, blue and red. The creek trickles behind me, bubbling and foaming over driftwood But seasons change. The sun burns around the foothills vibrant, yellow flowers bud on my twigs people run past me. The crunchy, heated sand sits around my figure But seasons change. The faded leaves begin to change from moss green to the colors of a blinding sunset the leaves slowly fall to the ground, those remaining sway in the wind. But seasons change, and so do I, the rabbit brush.

Untitled Will Smith, Grade 4 Boise The lizard had eggs ready to pop A little blue spot on its stomach A third eye to see from day to night Ray had one jump away If I were it, I would roll over, stick out my tongue and take a nap.

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Untitled Jack Hurty, Grade 5 Boise The little gray lizard far off, smooth up close scaly and sharp sunning on a fence his little claws digging into the wood

Roses Violets But Geraniums? Mahalie Hill, Grade 5 Boise Roses are red Violets are blue but what exactly are geraniums? Geraniums are sometimes all red or all pink or just plain white. But the geranium I saw today was white with pink lines. It’s called sticky geranium.

Untitled Kate Carter-Cram, Grade 5 Boise Sage brush swaying in the gentle breeze smelling so delicate its blue green leaves running with the wind

Writing Wild!

Untitled Allison Spain, Grade 6 Boise Evening prim rose heart shaped petals dancing middle living by the stream water droplets on the leaves playing in the breeze

Rock Chuck Allison Spain, Grade 6 Boise Buried deep in the middle of a forest lived a fat, brown, stinky, mischievous rock chuck. Most rock chucks are vegetarians, but deep down inside the rock chuck wanted to be a carnivore. He had meat on his mind all the time. Over the years, his desire grew larger than his brain could withstand. He was always on the search for food. So one day he heard a chirping from his dry, stinky hole beneath the ground. So he lazily waddled himself out of his hole on the search for feathered creatures. On the way to his destination, he started off at a trot, whistling as he went. Soon he found a little group of chicks, all spread out on the leafy floor, each one of them screaming for their mom. The chirping intrigued the rock chuck even more. So, right as he was going to blast out of the brush to eat the birds, he heard an alarming chirp. It was the mother robin diving at the speed of lightning. She came down and face planted right in the middle of the rock chuck’s back. After being pecked to death, the rock chuck quietly went back to his hole, starving and wondering if his carnivore life was over.

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You Once Believed Julia Maxwell, Grade 12 Boise Bouncing echoes fill the ancient arch and rebound off the cobbles. I spread my fingers against the cold slabs of stone. Lichen and plant matter rub off on my palms. As I walk through the wind picks up and rustles my skirt as spicy orange blossom and jasmine suffocate the air. My mind seems to relax and fall limp to the sun shining over the impossible hills bleached golden, scarred by green spiraling trees. I scramble to form words to the question posed from the voice behind me, the last words stifled and stolen by the roaring sea.

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To Leave Ian Brune, Grade 12 Boise You can get caught. Getting caught is pretty bad. That’s why we stopped riding the trains. They were policed at night, so we didn’t really sleep when we tried. Subways don’t work; they’re too infectious and diseased. And walking on the sidewalks is just too easy. I was the one who found the golf cart (we don’t know who left it). It fit me and Stacy pretty well, with most of our stuff in the back seat. Stacy was always telling me about his house, his old school, before he started riding with me. I faked interest for a while, but I gave up around the same time I gave up weekly showers. When you move through cities like we do, you see a lot of stray dogs. It’s hard to let them go, but we don’t have means to do otherwise. We started in San Francisco, sometime around July. It’s October now, and it’s steadily getting colder. To leave this state in a golf cart is hard, so we ditched it around Folsom. All the trains were working, but we still couldn’t get up the guts to hop in wherever. I said we should steal a car. He wanted to get jobs. I wanted to, suddenly, get jobs too.

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I always hated working, especially all the annoying, sadistic bosses. Stacy said he never had a job before. Stacy never said he had done anything. He just was. The only people who would open their door to us worked in a library. Ironic. For no real reason, I hated reading, but I always liked stories. We shelved them, ten hours a day, for a week, at $2.23 an hour. It was supposedly enough to get us to Salt Lake. It was a Tuesday when I half-walked, half-jerked up to the train office and bought the tickets with Stacy. I got a really weird look from the kid in the ticket office when he kept trying to sell us just one. The train didn’t leave until tomorrow. I convinced the library to let me take a bunch of torn-up books to read on the ride. Most were missing pages. A couple had inert bodily fluids on them. I couldn’t stop reading them anyway. I slept an hour, and then couldn’t find Stacy and his stuff. I figured he was on the train already, but I couldn’t figure why he didn’t at least kick me awake. I got on board before the eight other passengers. I never saw Stacy on the train, but I read a story with Stacy in it. I read a lot of good stories.

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Naturra Gabbi Brandini, Grade 12 Boise Golden skin, milky, shiny, bald and naked. She climbed into the river. Fish stared at her from their shelves of ice. The sun watched her from behind its mountain. She kept for eyes open, let herself sink, let the river carry her away. No bubbles on the surface, no gold leaf beneath a diamond current. The moon came out the other side of the mountain. She slid out of the river and out onto the beach. She touched her lips. They looked like pearls. And stood up, quietly returning to her life.

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Falcon’s Fortune Cookie Luciana Langdon, Grade 10 Garden City

OVER-INDULGENCE CLOGS BODY & MIND

Or so people tell me. But I’ve never had to worry about that. I take the right portions of everything. They say that these bird people, “Falcons,” they call them, will penalize you for breathing too much! Rulers of the sky, masters of the wind, they tower over us humans like prey. Just knowing they’re always watching gives me chills when I step outside. On one day that I will never forget, a piece of paper came floating from the sky. It was what I needed to start a rebel force. This little piece of paper was the foundation of the Falcon’s extermination:

YOUR MIND IS FILLED WITH NEW IDEAS, MAKE USE OF THEM

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Mothership Sam Nelson, Grade 11 Boise “For the last time, nothing’s wrong!” Dahlia was nearly yelling into her phone, trying to focus on the low buzz of traffic surrounding her. It was near the beginning of summer, and half of the cars around her were filled with high school kids, milking that feeling of release that came with vacationing. She heaved a deep sigh, and heard James do the same on the other end. “Dahlia, I’m your brother,” he said patiently. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. Come on, is some guy giving you trouble or anything like that?” She could just imagine him, sitting in the armchair at home, in his t-shirt and boxer shorts, with the image that he was so tough for a fifteen-year-old. Dahlia tried to contain her giggles. “No, James. I told you. I’m absolutely fine! Please, for the love of God, mind your own business. I’m a nineteen-year-old woman, I think I know how to take care of myself!” Dahlia tucked a lock of ebony hair behind her ear, her earrings chiming. “Okay, then, fine. Don’t tell me. See if I care. But if you don’t, I’m just going to make up a story to tell Mom.” Dahlia nearly screeched to a halt in the middle of traffic. Their mother was a troll of a woman, tall and blunt, never without a critical remark and a firm swat to the rump to go with it. Dahlia pulled into the library parking lot, hogging a parking space and chewing on her strawberry-glossed lip. “If I tell you this, you have to promise not to tell anyone else. Promise.” She held her breath, waiting for his confirmation. “Yes, yes, of course. Just tell me what is the matter, already!” James growled. A long silence. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered, as if she were in a confessional at church rather than on the phone with her teenaged brother. As predicted, James sounded less-than-thrilled.

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“I knew it. Who is he? I’ll kill him.” “Don’t do that. He’s not from here.” That’s quite the understatement, she thought to herself. “Well, where is he from, then?” “I’m not exactly sure. But he said it was pretty close to the Milky Way, so ... uhhhm...,” she trailed off, imagining James’ jaw dropping. Her brother was silent for almost a full minute. “Milky Way?” “Uh huh.” Dahlia began to examine her fingernails. “As in, Milky Way Galaxy?” “That’s the one.” “What is this guy, Dahlia, some kind of illegal alien?” “Yes,” Dahlia replied slowly. “Literally, actually.” James seemed shocked beyond words. Dahlia hastily continued. “But he’s real nice! He says I’m gonna help him save his species!” “You... you’re going to have an alien’s baby,” James said flatly, sounding like he would fall over in a dead faint at any moment. “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to know,” Dahlia said dismissively. “I’m not sure I’m okay with this,” he continued, choosing the words carefully. “... Or if I believe it,” he said gulping. Dahlia shrugged, “It doesn’t matter, anyway, I guess. He said that he was going to swipe yours and Mom’s brains clean once he took me back to his planet, anyway.” James made a noise that sounded somewhere between a snort and a gasp. “What? When exactly is he planning to do th...this....” A moment of silence. “Who’s this...?” he asked, in an airy sort of voice. “Sorry, wrong number,” Dahlia said smoothly, flipping her phone shut and smirking. “Did you hear that, honey?” she asked, and a voice that sounded only inside her head replied. “Yes,” it croaked. “And in mere minutes I will be there to retrieve you... and our child.”

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Open Late Anna Roser, Grade 11 Boise She knew Derik was asleep because his breathing was shallow. The plastic mask over his mouth and nose fogged with thick white moisture every four seconds. The sound of his breathing was undetectable beneath the hum of the tiny machine that pumped oxygen to him. Green and red lights flashed in a slow monotonous rhythm, as if counting the moments until it could shut off. Derik would not wake now. She slipped out of the bed, and although the cherry floors were cold and streaked with the ugly glow of street lights, she did not put on her slippers. The microwave clock glared at her reproachfully as it told her it was 11:47 PM. She hated death. She hated the inevitability and the solitude that death promised. To put herself in a better mood and pull her thoughts out of the room haunted by a decaying mind and orange street lamps, she put the top down on her baby blue Bug. Broadway was almost empty and her destination glowed on her right. The commercials made her crave, and ache with selfish guilt. She had to exclude Derik. How can you enjoy a vanilla milkshake with your dying husband?

Sonic was open late, just like they’d promised.

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Twenty-Four Exposures for Low Light Amy Rosenheim, Grade 12 Boise in my summer bed, i flick my left eye open and closed, brushing my eyelashes against the navy sheets. i do this because it makes the sound of walking on infant snow. the window is open. the blinds are closed except for an erratic pair near the ceiling. they let in a trickle of streetlight, it hangs like a border on the wall, tracing the middles of drawings i’ve taped up. i hear my neighbors in their yard, joking and reminiscing. i imagine the pools of light that gather beneath their windows, the pools shallow as they mix with darkness and grey grass. their night life bounces off the cracked and convex cul-de-sac and mumbles toward me.

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An Ode to the Sun Ashley Baker, Grade 11 Meridian The sun that brings hope to the darkest of mornings, with its dazzling rays, piercing through windows like needles through ears. Shining through clouds as the world through a bubble. The sun who brings warmth to the coldest of days, to the saddest of struggles. With its boldness and bravery, like a gentle woman, soothing a sobbing child. Like a tissue, dabbing away tears. The sun that melts my chapstick and boils my steering wheel, as a bully on a playground, as an alpha male. Yet without its annoyances there wouldn’t be the beauty of peace it can bring to my life.

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The sun that puts a warm hand on my shoulder, reminding me that things are okay. And as long as it’s around, there will always be light, there will always be warmth, there will always be hope.

Face the Faces Mai-Vy Thach, Grade 11 Oberhausen, Germany In front of all the unknown faces. The voices. The sweat. The lights blinking. Red. Blue. Yellow. Red. All the unknown faces starring. Expectant sparkling eyes. Blue. Yellow. A scream. Hands. A bright light in my face. White. White. White. Breathe in.

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Self Portrait in Arabesque Nika Sharp, Grade 10 Boise A flower, an animal, a lover She can be all With a flex, leap or pirouette Muscles strong yet bendy like rubber A contortionist, a magician With a kick or develop She will adjust to life around To the music, the rain, or the tides Ready for all that is tossed her way She awaits eagerly in elevay The road is rough but very short To drive along this would be gratifying In world she stops In spirit and memory she perpetuates motion The new road is smooth and never ends

Crossing the Line, Breaking the Rope Meghan O’Rourke, Grade 11 Meridian Lace me up and away we go. Out here, I am your only friend, the only one you can depend on. Through the rain, the mud or snow, the only one who limits our potential is you.

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I am a blanket, here to help and protect. To help you feel secure and warm. But don’t get too attached. Someday I’ll get worn and torn. Beyond repair, just scraps and pieces of what I used to be. I’ll get thrown away or put in storage, just another memory to fade away like a cloudy day.

It Must Look Like Sloppy Joes Bridget Harkness, Grade 12 Boise One of her eyes is smaller than the other. It must be the right one, but nothing in the mirror is right. Nothing is ever left either. She doesn’t leave things. Except her car keys or her stained shoes, the ones she doesn’t tie in bows. The ones that are flat like paper. The ones with all the toes coming out like peek-a-boo. If she were water, she would leak out those holes and onto the streets. Dark like dilated pupils. She would exist between gravel and tar and under peoples’ feet. Watch bunions like clouds and laugh. Though she doesn’t like being stepped on. Doesn’t imagine she would be comfortable, but doesn’t know. Not a lot of things. She opens her right eye real big in pictures. People always tell her she doesn’t look like herself.

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Salty Kisses Elora King, Grade 11 Caldwell I sit up-beach from the solid waves crashing to the sandy shore only feeling a little salt air kissing my cheeks. I move a little closer; the next waves crash land on the small crushed rock making the sweet salt water gently fall on my tan skin and closed eyelids. Breathing salt air into my nostrils, I move even closer. Criss-cross apple sauce, eyes still closed. The feeling of beach air gets stronger as the edge of the shore water tickles my toes and slowly moves back. I force a deeper breath as the water gets closer and my face gets more wet and the soft tingle in my toes begs for more—I move closer. Sitting now in the water, moist air takes full effect as I breathe in more and the tide soaks my crossed legs. I am relaxed, I am free, I am wet.

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Fabric of the Universe Matthew Hoiland, Grade 12 Kuna Like the wind, or the thickness of the air, a heavy blanket of peace pressed down on me. It lowers down on my soul pushing away the concerns of others. I walked along, underneath the blanket feeling my way around. The world is still, weighed down by the peace. The peace isn’t uniform. As I move some spots are warmer, some spots are cooler, some places are softer, some places are rougher. The air seems thick. Every breath brings the essence of the blanket within. Peace shields me from the cares. I wait and someone walks by. The steps ripple the blanket pushing thin air through me, but the blanket of peace settles again. I am happy to be enfolded in such a state, wrapped into it. I move through it and a cool spot touches me. It feels wet and thickly woven. Its vapors touch my eyes and upset my stomach, but peace still holds me. The wetness is heavier. I move on to another place, this one warm. I breathe in its scent: strong and a mix of thick and thin. It warms me and I am proud. I keep walking, but slowly, and I brush up against a rough spot. It is stiffer than the rest of Peace. I continue away from it. I feel a sleek, thin, cool area. It is a welcome relief. It washes over me like water. I stand in it for the longest time, reflecting its shiny surface. Peace still holds me. Suddenly a noise rips the blanket away, but what goes up must come down.

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Run Forward, Lonely Light Mandi Farnworth, Grade 12 Eagle Ever reaching, stretching, but as hard as I try never will I hold in my palm the objects of my affection. I must settle for glowing warmth, stretching, never giving up. I can pull the planets toward me, but they long to be alone, far away from my scorching beauty. They push away, which holds them in orbit, never able to leave—sentenced to ever spiral, gaining and losing distance continually as they try to hold their own moons. Leaving me alone, and empty, destined to die, a failure in my own mind, taking them with me in my sorrow.

Winged Wonders Aly Fawcett, Grade 12 Meridian Should I stick you in the socket, will I really light the night? Should I dare you to crumble, can you carry all my fright? Should I send you through my skin and out the other side? Should it kill me instantly or leave me time to cry? Should I chase you down with what’s left of red wine? Do I really understand what we hold on the line?

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Graduation Travis Miller, Grade 11 Stephen, MN I turn left on I-85. Looking over at Matt, I ask, “How was college?” “It was great,” he replies. “I still can’t believe it cost so little.” But at what future cost? I frown as I think. Don’t talk about that. Take a right on this dirt road. “I heard you did pretty well.” “Yeah. I graduated fourth in my class. I can’t believe it’s already over.” We pull into my farm, and pull up to Matt’s graduation party, which started without him. Sarah comes running and nearly knocks Matt over. I laugh and leave the couple to some of their last moments together for quite a while.

The Monster in My Closet Carlee Parsley, Grade 10 Boise Running. Run. Faster. It’s gaining, that monster. Never leaves. There. Always. Monster. Run. Your past. He knows. Everything. Because you told him. Forget? Never. Too precious. Faster. Monster! Leave... Please. Wait. Later. Not now. Not in two weeks. Wait. Try. New people. New lives. New... It’s later, he’ll say. Burning. Pleading. Eyes. Please. Stay. Whispers. I Love you. Never stopped. Always. Please. Come back. With me, he’ll say.

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Thanks Bee Taylor Andrus, Grade 10 Idaho Falls Me, the boy, the park. Staring at him from behind a tree. A cough, a sneeze, a bee. The bee getting closer to me. A sting, a yelp, a cry for help. The boy running to the scene. His hands, my wrist, him looking at the sting. A phone, a call, the sirens coming. Me, the boy, the park, A cough, a sneeze, a bee, A sting, a yelp, his hands, My wrist, a phone, a call, A ring.

The Resounding Silence Keiko Fujii, Grade 10 Boise The bubbling brook giggled and trickled along. I asked it, “What are you laughing at?” It merely just giggled in return. The wind whispered through the trees, and I asked it, “Are you talking to me?” But it was silent. The ocean roared and crashed against the shore and I asked, “Are you mad at me?” They didn’t answer, for it was listening to itself through the ear of the seashell. The bright shining stars twinkled and winked above the world. I asked, “Are you looking at me?” They didn’t answer, for they were polishing themselves so they would sparkle like diamonds for the next evening’s show. Finally, I asked the world, “Why won’t you answer me?” And it said, “You weren’t listening.”

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Something Unexpected Morgan Wood, Grade 10 Boise Jake fiddled with the radio, switching from a polka station to country and back again, over and over and over. “Aren’t there any other stations?” I asked, swatting his hand away from the knob. “I’m trying, I’m trying,” he swatted my hand back and settled on a station. I merged into the other lane. The highway went on for miles, the way you could see it from here, one straight road going up and down over the hills. The seat belt cut into my throat. I wasn’t tall enough to see over the wheel without sitting on a phonebook, and even then only my eyes peeked over. Jake gave me grief about it every time I drove. “So are we still going to your parents’ for Thanksgiving?” I asked him. He looked out the window and sighed. The early morning sun glared in on him; his profile had an angelic glow radiating off of it. “Well, I don’t know, we can’t fly now. I guess we’ll have to drive.” “Can you take that much time off work?” “I’m sure I can work something out.” He turned away from me again, laying his head against the cool window, his finger idly picking at the soft seat. I sighed and continued to drive. My mind drifted away from Jake, away from myself, the way your mind sometimes does when you drive on a straight road for hours. When the sun was overhead, my foot had cramped up and it felt like I had a boulder pressing on my bladder. I pulled over at a gas station and woke Jake up. He said he was okay, he would just stay in the car. I asked if he wanted anything and he said no and appeared to go back to sleep. I walked into the dirty bathroom and looked in the mirror. I looked at the ring on my left hand. I thought about November and I thought about January. I thought about Jake’s strict Catholic parents and I thought about my strict Catholic parents. And I stared at my stomach, thinking, thinking, thinking...

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The Summer I Turned 15 Shannon Anderson, Grade 11 Boise The cold air froze the smoke as it floated from our grateful lips, we laughed at the shapes it made; look, a unicorn, a platypus, a giant sea monkey. Cars and phone calls at midnight speckled black still skies, hours were spent looking for a place we could be alone, finally settling for an abandoned house or a freshman party. We were the big kids, tromping over wet lawns to open, hazy doors, the intimidation factor came to us naturally. Cold snow crunched and gave way to our staggering feet, we lurched and held onto each other for support, our lips met and I could not resist. But the days were bright white reminders that, shockingly, we could not keep this up. I settled for a mango cigar and

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you settled for another girl, our adventure gave way to reality, and I could not continue.

Untitled Emily Benda, Grade 11 Eagle Feel the sun’s grateful ray bearing down against grass and soil and skin the way a swell of sea erodes and ebbs away the shore. Red flakes of skin peel away like ancient wood as it falls to age and rots, reveals a new face. Do not shy from the empty air, though hot to the touch as a fire decimating centuries of pine: embrace it, grow sprouts through the ashes. Shadows draw you in as ferns are grazed with char lose their precious waters. You are the same, cannot stay hidden beneath the cover of darkness. Emerge as a plume of smoke.

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The Fly Hanna Fischer, Grade 11 Boise I buzz, I bite, I annoy I see, taste and hear Hear the arguments between daughter and father and the good old saying Be the fly on the wall the girl does nothing but frown Oh look she’s grown but still they fight this time about details Be the fly on the wall and a frown creases the girl’s forehead More time passes she’s on the phone but I still hear the anger I think it’s about money and paying for college And I hear through the static Be the fly on the wall a single tear falls to the floor It’s her wedding her father’s proud he whispers in her ear Be the fly on the wall and remember today and the girl smiles I buzz, I bite, I annoy I see, taste and hear Hear the arguments between daughter and mother who tells her child Be the fly on the wall.

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The Old Man Sings in the Distance Jessica VanWagoner, Grade 10 Sandy Staring at the cool blue pebbles trying to stay conscious And the old man sings in the distance Yee-olde-yoldee! The German man’s voice that sounds like the throaty growl of a rabid dog. A cool pool where the fish meander. No life in their eyes Robotic and empty. What are you not thinking about, fish? What a stupid question. You certainly are a strange one, aren’t you, sir? And the German growls in my ear. At least I’m not a German Shepard. Shepard’s pie, he clicks his tongue. Find the radius of pi. I need money to get radiation for my parakeet’s cancer. Money makes the world go round They didn’t know the earth was round. So long earth! And have a nice day!

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Better Than on Time, I Was Early. Audrey Holmes, Grade 11 Boise Dear Maria, I have an excuse for missing our wedding day. It’s a good excuse too. Let me first start by saying that I had every intention of showing up. Really, I did. I was showered and dressed. I had a tie on and everything. I was on time. Better than on time. I was early. I was walking through the park, past the band shell where I saw people practicing tai-chi. I stood and watched for a minute, enthralled. They had nunchakus, and they were trying to summon the winds (I think). What a romantic idea, I thought! I imagined having my own nunchakus and floating away on the winds with your hands in mine. But I knew we had our honeymoon for that, so I continued the short walk across the park to meet you. Right there, not five feet from me, a goose waddled forward, followed closely by its mate, and I marveled at our luck. First the summoning of the winds to symbolize just how special our marriage would be, and then a pair of geese to symbolize how long our marriage would last. The signs could not be ignored. But my feeling of good fortune faded when I looked the first goose in the eye. He gave me an evil glare that sent shivers down my spine. I glared back, daring him to challenge me. The goose bobbed its head threateningly and made a horrific croaking sound. Slowly, he waddled toward me without blinking. More geese joined him, until there was an entire flock of webbed feet ambling awkwardly toward me. I backed away over the damp trampled grass, wary of the geese with their chests puffed out and their feathers flared menacingly; they were waiting for the signal from the lead goose. As if on cue, he straightened his arched ebony neck, and the flock spread their wings and flew at me from every direction.

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I didn’t know where I was. It was like being trapped in a blizzard, only it was hot instead of cold. There was a chaotic frenzy of feathers and beaks. I couldn’t see; I couldn’t tell up from down or right from left. My heart lurched frantically in my chest. Thinking that surely this would be the end, I put my arms up to shield my face as geese grasped onto my fingers, my ears, my clothes with unyielding strength. Their beaks were iron pincers that sent pain coursing through every limb on my body. I squeezed my eyes shut, and your beautiful face appeared, imprinted on the backs of my eyelids. It gave me the strength I needed to surge forward from the storm, to run the short distance to the rose garden, where you were waiting for me in white. Maria, I used every last reserve of strength I had left, but the geese got the better of me. They forced me to the ground; there was a warm metallic taste in my mouth. My body was throbbing with pain. Once again, I thought it was the end. The end of me, the end of us. Then the sprinklers came on, casting rainbows in the sunlight: beautiful, breathtaking rainbows that scattered the geese demons. I forced myself up into a kneeling position, looked down at my soggy, ripped tuxedo, and in that moment, I realized that our wedding was just not meant to be. I left you at the altar because the signs could not be ignored. There was no choice in the matter. We are not the perfect match that I once thought we must be. Please believe me when I say that it was for the better, and I wish you all the best.

Yours truly, Tom

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To Do, To Do, To Don’t Ashley Howell, College Freshman Boise Part your lips like this, not like that, move closer, no further, don’t talk about what you’re doing, just enjoy or hope it gets better, keep your eyes closed at all times, keep dirty jokes to yourself, don’t talk with your mouth full, don’t ask about the past, don’t talk about the future, see each other every couple of days, don’t let him really know how much you like him, wear sexy clothing, can you get a new bra? One of those push-up ones, how much make-up do you own? Do you have eyeliner? No, but it looks bad on me anyways, we’ll have to use mine, pink shadow might look good, the kind that has a little pink sparkle, don’t get too close, rarely ask questions, make him want more by seeing, hearing, feeling less, don’t get too attached, could you really talk on the phone for four hours? Talk about other guys when he’s around, giggle at everything, do you have a lower cut shirt? Can you get contacts? When’s the last time you plucked your eyebrows? Have you ever worn lipstick? Well, have you?

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Sophie Owen, Grade 7

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Krys Moysard, Grade 8

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Lauren “Lai” Laraway, Grade 10

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Emily Paixao, Grade 7

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Ian McKenzie, Grade 9

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Sara Britton, Grade 8

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Eric Marquart, Grade 9

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Amethyst Tagney, Grade 9

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Camille Ball, Grade 7

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Sherry Ma, Grade 10

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Matthew Marquart, Grade 8

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Jacob Oleson, Grade 8

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Lee Sullivan, Grade 7

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Rachael West, Grade 9

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Brek Chiles, Grade 7

Words & Pictures

Chi Chiles, Grade 4

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Catherine Clay, Grade 6

Words & Pictures

Sean Conner, Grade 6

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Noelle Huhn, Grade 6

Words & Pictures

Simone Migliori, Grade 6

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Nicole Rinaldi, Grade 6

Words & Pictures

Erin Schmitt, Grade 6

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Emily Verheijen, Grade 6

Words & Pictures

Luke Williams, Grade 5

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Ian Wood, Grade 6

Words & Pictures

Daniel Kolb, Grade 4

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Brennan Cuppage, Grade 6

Words & Pictures

Dashiell Jones, Grade 5

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John Ryan Martin, Grade 6

Words & Pictures

Scout Leary, Grade 6

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Jusung Lee, Grade 4

Words & Pictures

Rachel Bonnet, Grade 5

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Eli Neal, Grade 5

Words & Pictures

Kamryn Kopping, Grade 4

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John Lee, Grade 5

Words & Pictures

Ben Rust, Grade 6

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Linley VanDercar, Grade 6

Words & Pictures

Reid Simplot, Grade 4

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Anaise Boucher-Browning, Grade 4

Words & Pictures

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Writers’ Biographies

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Writers’ Biographies Guisela Bahruth is a native Guatemalan. She has worked with numerous groups of writers of all ages, helping them to use literacy to strengthen their identities. Presently, she is working on several publication projects through Publicaciones Plétora, Women’s Press.

Amelia Berg is an award-winning screen writer and fiction writer. She has been teaching with The Cabin’s Writers in the Schools program for the past three years and will begin graduate studies in the fall of 2009. Paul Berg earned his MFA at Emerson College in Boston, Massachusetts. He is a poet and filmmaker. While finishing his first poetry manuscript and watching after his three boys, he has also been busy creating short films. He and his wife won the I48 2006 film competition, and their film Quiet Man was shown in the True West Film Festival. He has been working with Writers in the Schools and Idaho Writing Camps at The Cabin for ten years. Malia Collins’ first children’s book, Pele and Poliahu, A Tale of Fire and Ice won a 2006 Ka Palapala Po’okela Award for Excellence in Children’s Hawaiian Culture. Her second book, Santa’s Hawaiian Holiday, was a best seller. She is currently working on another children’s book, as well as a novel. Her short stories can be found in Puerto del Sol and MidAmerican Review. She teaches in the Cabin’s Idaho Writing Camps and WITS program and this fall she joined the Teaching Artists’ Roster for the Idaho Commission on the Arts. Catherine Jones has worked most recently with Full Glass Films and director Danny Leiner, adapting the manuscript of her novel, The Ceremony, into a feature-length screenplay. An earlier version of the same manuscript was a finalist for the Dana Award in the novel. Catherine has taught writing at University of Montana and Boise State University. For five years, she managed programming at The Cabin in Boise, where she also taught as an Idaho Writing Camp instructor and Writer in the Schools. She lives in Montana, where she is on the faculty of the 406 Writers’ Workshop.

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Words Work Wonders 2009 Meghan Kenny was the 2008-2009 Tickner Writing Fellow at the Gilman School in Baltimore. She teaches for Gotham Writers’ Workshop online. Her stories have appeared or are forthcoming in journals such as The Gettysburg Review, The Iowa Review, Cimarron Review, The Kenyon Review, The Florida Review and Pleiades. She won the 2005 Iowa Review Award for fiction and was a 2008 Peter Taylor Fellow at The Kenyon Review Writers’ Workshop. She received her B.A. from Kenyon College and her M.F.A. from Boise State University. This is her sixth year teaching summer writing camp at The Cabin. Adrian Kien is a poet from Missoula, MT. He received an MFA in creative writing from Boise State University in 2007 where he now teaches poetry and composition courses as an adjunct instructor. He has also lived and taught English in Dijon and Chambery, France. In the Spring of 2010 a sampling of his translations of the French poet, Christian Prigent, will also be published at Actionyes. He lives with his wife and their two cats in Boise.

Nicole LeFavour grew up scratching poems in fence posts and stories in textbook margins. Today her work is mostly confined to museums, classrooms and writing guest editorials and legislative floor debate. A teacher, organizer, and Idaho legislator, in the past she has worked as a newspaper reporter and has published poems, stories, and essays in local and national journals and essay collections. Today, January through April, she writes a blog, “Notes from the Floor: observations from inside the Idaho legislature.” Alan Minskoff teaches journalism and writing at The College of Idaho. He edited Boise Magazine and was the editorial director of Boise Journal and Art Idaho magazines from 2001 until 2004. He has taught in the Cabin’s Idaho Writing Camps and in the Writers in the Schools program. His poetry has appeared in Eight Idaho Poets; Idaho’s Poetry: A Centennial Anthology, Things to do in Idaho, Blue Ink Runs Out on a Partly Cloudy Day, and various journals. A chapbook, Point Blank, was published last fall by Limberlost Press.

Writers’ Biographies Caty Sporleder lives in the North End of Boise Idaho. She holds an MFA in creative writing from Antioch University, teaching in their undergraduate programs and serving as a lecturer in the Prolegomena to a Future Poetics curriculum. Her work has been published in Wheelhouse Magazine and The Sylvan Echo. Her first book-length mixed-genre collection was released by BlazeVOX Books in the spring of 2009.

Daniel Stewart’s first collection of poems, The Imaginary World, was published in 2003 by Wolf Peach Press. His poems can be found in Arsenic Lobster, Crab Creek Review, Puerto Del Sol, Talking River, Skidrow Penthouse and Rattle, among others. He teaches creative writing as part of The Cabin’s Writers in the Schools program. Norman Weinstein is a poet and educator who has led the Drop-in Writing program at The Cabin for several years and has worked in the Writers in the Schools program in Idaho and West Virginia. He is the author of many books of poetry, a jazz history, and a study of Gertrude Stein’s writing. He writes about music and architecture regularly for The Christian Science Monitor. You can find him (when he’s not at The Cabin) at home with his wife, the writer/artist/ musician Mary Owen, and their cat, Chava.

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Index

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Index

Curious City Alexander, Ashley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Anderson, Paige. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 Ashby, Graham . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 Ashby, Kyle. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 Bache, Stacia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 Badger, Reagan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111 Baker, Bree. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114 Baker, Sydney. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113 Barnes, Shelby. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71 Barton, Abigail. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66 Bearden, Byron . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Benally, Mary. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118 Benjamin, Mara. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61 Betcher, Andrew . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52 Birnie, Isabella. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 Birnie, Sonora. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60 Block, Alison. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 Block, Rachel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94 Brinkerhoff, Kian. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92 Britton, Lauren . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 Broderick, Julia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72 Buckskin, Marylou . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114 Burr, Nathan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 Burrell, Hannah. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76 Bush, Annie. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96 Callahan, Jodie. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116 Carignan, Cat. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108 Carmack, Jack. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 Carter, Hope . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61 Carty, Sarah. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68 Cates, Amber. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 Cesare, Chas. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Charley, Mia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112 Christian, Ellie. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55 Clegg, Scierra. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 Cole, Jesse. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 Cole, Rory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70 Cole, Sam. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Coles, Madeleine. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 Cook, Kimberly. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55

Curnow, Kaitlyn. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 Curtis, Andrew . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62 Damon, Lashonna. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 Davis, Atreawna. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 Day, Lauren. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 Dixey, Kaycee. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115 Dixey, Pheobee . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116 Djunaedy, Hanif . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 Drayton, Kelsey. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95 Dresser, Tori. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Duff, Victoria. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Egan, Abby. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 Evett, Griffin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99 Farmer, Tyvan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 Feeley, Erin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 Feeley, Teagan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89 Fisher, Colin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104 Fisher, Ian. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 Fitzgerald, Brooke. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Fitzwater, Jolene. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Fluetsch, Allison . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69 Fluetsch, Autumn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75 Forbes, Sam. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 Galer, Madison . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51 Gallegos, Nena. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Goltry, Jack. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 Hadfield, Taryn. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 Haley, Moriah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90 Hampton, Spencer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Hergert, Madisan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86 Herrold, Jillie. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84 Hevewah, Alexa. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112 Hi, Atalya. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115 Hicks, Ryley. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60 Hilburn, Katie. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 Hill, Mahalie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110 Hodgkin, Dallin Gregg. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 Homaechevarria, Julia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Hunt, Khalani . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107 Hunt, Lana. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111

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Jones, Kennedy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59 Joo, Hyonoo. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Jussel, Anna. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Jussell, Claire. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102 Kim, Chaewon. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54 Kim, Cody. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 Kim, Julius. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Kim, Lily. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56 Kindall, Grace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 Krutz, Amy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 LaMay, Kuranda . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100 Larsen, Annabelle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 Lawrence, Ann. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42 Lettkeman, Peyton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 Lewerenz, Elise. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 Macpherson, Zakarie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98 Madden, Mariah. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 Madsen, Shanna . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Marshall, Nathaniel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 Martinez, Angel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 Maxwell, Hallie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 McElwain, Clea. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 McGarry, Abigail. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52 McKean, Cassie. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114 Mckenzie, Ian. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Mckenzie, Torrin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Miglioni, Simone. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30 Miller, Sarah. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42 Mitchell, Payton. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 Montanus, Mike . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59 Mower, Tenaya. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 Myers, Sophie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Nichols, Carmella. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Oler, Kara. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53 Orrison, John. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105 Pape, Emily . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97 Pape, Laura . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96 Peters, Emily . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Pewe, Jake. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83 Philips, David . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58

Pingel, Julia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106 Pongah, Aubrey. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118 Pratt, Bella. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Prenn, Jeremiah. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 Resue, Madison. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Rigby, Alexis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Rommens, Monica . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78 Ross, Gabby. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98 Ruggles, Samantha . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Saathoff, Grace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91 Saathoff, Megan Marie. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Sackett, Hayden. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57 Schachtell, Sylver. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57 Seabourn, Ben. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 Sebena, George . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118 Sexton, Jeremy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104 Sharp, Racheal. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112 Shoyo, Sha’Lynn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115 Smay, Hannah. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 Smith, Anabel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53 Smith, Aubrey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64 Spencer, Quinn. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79 Stark, Raeh. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Stein, Derek. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107 Sterling, Kelcey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109 Sullivan, Lee. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81 Sundholm, Brooke . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74 Swenson, London. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 Szentes, Anya. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92 Tacke, Lily. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56 Thomas, Trystin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 Thompson-Aue, Phillip . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 Tsourmas, Kate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80 Vatcher, Delaney . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Verdoorn, Madelyn. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 Volk, Emily. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82 Wallace, Robert . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100 Wedman, Jacelyn. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 Werdel, Carly. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 White, Kylee. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113

Index

Williams, John. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Wolff, Amber. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83 Woodbury, Anabell. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88 Worrell, Audrey. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106 Wozniak, Samantha. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65 Xu, Ashley. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 Young, Wong . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19

Writing Wild! Anderson, Emily . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125 Baca, Emily. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137 Belden, Michelle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162 Benner, Sierra . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142 Binegar, Madison. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133 Boersig, Jordan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171 Brown, Megan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126 Carson, Denae. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139 Carter-Cram, Kate. . . . . . . . . . . . . 124, 174 Cooper, Hayden. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 168 Cuppage, Spencer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161 Daniels, Sasha . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139 DeAngeli, Emma. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 Degen, Lauren. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127 Dodge, Aubrey. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161 Edgerton-Dickey, Daniel . . . . . . . . . . . 154 Eng, Lindsay. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142 Englert, Josie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 168 Falkner, Henry. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123 Fletcher, Calleah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128 Forbes, Isabel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155 Gamel, Savannah. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145 Gary, Lillian. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 158 Gruber, Jake. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167 Hadfield, Taryn. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145 Hanson, Maraya . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 Henderson, Rachel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172 Higby, Braedon. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 Hill, Mahalie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128, 174 Houk, Brenna . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127 Houk, Sebastian. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129

Huang, Benjamin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163 Hubbell, Rebekah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129 Hunt, Ellie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172 Hurty, Jack. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124, 174 Hutton, Lowell. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138 Jones, Trey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157 Kirkpatrick, Kendall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169 Kuklinski, KariAnna. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135 LaChance, Arianna. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147 Lane, Grace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157 Lawrence, Ann. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 166 Lee, John J.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140 Lee, Jusung. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130 Lewernz, Anneka. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153 Lewis, Amelia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 156 Lu, Alyssa. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 154 Lu, Diana. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150 Ma, Rebecca. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136 MacMillan, Tatum. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131 Mangum, Abby. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141 Manning-Floch, Chloe. . . . . . . . . . . . . 171 Martin, Allie. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 170 Matlock, Sara. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 152 McDonald, Kayley. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160 Miller, Liz. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134 Miller, Jacob. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137 Montague, Lilly. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143 Montague, Lydia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147 Mortimer, Leah. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126 Norman, Alicia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146 Norris, Madeline. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138 Ogden, Allie. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 164 Park, Tessa. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132 Reichle, Jared. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159 Remeis, Jesse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167 Robinson, Naia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169 Roman, Jessica. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140 Rommens, Monica . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143 Rustad, Audrey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163 Sanders, Sarah. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132

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Words Work Wonders 2009

Schwartsman, Katarina. . . . . . . . . . . . . 162 Smith, Matt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 164 Smith, Will. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123, 173 Spain, Allison. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175 Sullivan, Lee. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148 Tate, Lauren. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153 Thrasher, Brian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144 Venecia, Kyra. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 166 Woodhead, Karoline. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133 Zimmer, Lily . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173

801 Oasis Anderson, Shannon. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198 Andrus, Taylor. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196 Baker, Ashley. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188 Benda, Emily. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199 Brandini, Gabbi. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182 Brune, Ian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 180 Farnworth, Mandi. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194 Fawcett, Aly . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194 Fischer, Hanna. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 200 Fujii, Keiko. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196 Harkness, Bridget . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191 Hoiland, Matthew. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193 Holmes, Audrey. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 202 Howell, Ashley. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204 King, Elora. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192 Langdon, Luciana. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183 Maxwell, Julia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179 Miller, Travis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195 Nelson, Sam. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 184 O’Rourke, Meghan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190 Parsley, Carlee. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195 Rosenheim, Amy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187 Roser, Anna. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 186 Sharp, Nika . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190 Thach, Mai-Vy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189 VanWagoner, Jessica . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201 Wood, Morgan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 197

Words & Pictures Atkinson, Lindsay . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217 Ball, Camille. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 222 Betts, Austin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231 Bonnet, Rachel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249 Boucher-Browning, Anaise. . . . . . . . . 256 Britton, Sara. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216 Chavez, Ryann. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221 Chiles, Brek . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 232 Chiles, Chi. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233 Clay, Catherine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234 Conner, Sean. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235 Cuppage, Brennan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244 Dasgupta, Alicia Norman. . . . . . . . . . . 225 Huhn, Noelle. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 236 Jones, Dashiell. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245 Kapral, Kristine. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213 Kolb, Daniel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 243 Kopping, Kamryn. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251 Laraway, Lauren “Lai”. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211 Leary, Scout. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247 Lee, John . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 252 Lee, Jusung. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 248 Ma, Sherry. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223 Marquart, Eric. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218 Marquart, Matthew. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224 Martin, John Ryan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 246 McKenzie, Ian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214 McKenzie, Torrin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215 Migliori, Simone. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237 Moysard, Krys. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210 Neal, Eli . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250 Oleson, Jacob. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 226 Owen, Sophie. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209 Paixao, Emily. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212 Rakisits, Sedona Wall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229 Rinaldi, Nicole. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 238 Ross, Anna. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219 Rust, Ben . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253 Schmitt, Erin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239

Index

Simplot, Reid. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255 Stoddard, Mitsi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227 Sullivan, Lee. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228 Tagney, Amethyst. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 220 VanDercar, Linley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 254 Verheijen, Emily. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 240 West, Rachael. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 230 Williams, Luke. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241 Wood, Ian. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 242

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Words Work Wonders