Baylor Middle School Literary Magazine 2015

illuminate

Contents

Cover art by Ava Nordness

Utopia Through the Seasons, Priya Bhushan

Art by Skylar Brown

So Much Depends, Emily Eachus

My Fig Tree, Chloe Crooks

When Snow Plunges to the Ground, Orly Berke

Art by Parker Stanford

Art by Alyssa Kim

Flu Vaccine, Thomas Nimon

Wonders of Nature, Isaac Waxenberg

Art by Evelyn Ludwick

Silence of the Wood, Creighton Arrington

Art by Lily Scott

Art by Chloe Crooks

Grandfather’s Couch, Kistler Hampton

Art by Zoë Chamberlain

Art by Dawson Brown

Trampoline Tree, Haley Rice

Art by Atherton Mook

Art by Erika Lammon

An Unusual Use of Forks, Autumn Seymour

Letter from the Editors

People are like glow sticks; there are the ones that are lit up all the way, the ones that have a few dark spots, and the ones that don’t light up at all.

Autumn Seymour

Utopia Through the SeasonsPriya Bhushan, Grade 6

I think about the approaching warmth, when it will drip out of the earth,leaving the ground dry once more.

When the youthful buds begin to bloom,I breathe the scent of cherry blossoms in the clean air.I taste the sweet honeysuckle upon my tongue.The beautiful song of all the birds who have awaited this timerings throughout the woods behind the yard.All the delicate petals of the newly blooming flowers are peaking out of their buds.I lie down in the soft warm grass and look up at the clear blue sky,and hope it will stay warm and dazzling forever.

I will return to my extraordinary backyard.Where I can think back to when I first arrivedat this nature’s haven and envision the yearsI will spend in my perfect outdoor utopia.Even when I am grownthis will always be my own beautiful secluded place.

When the fireflies arrive,I sprint down the side of my house wearing my hot pink bathing suit and dragging a hose.The tall lime green leafy trees welcome me with open arms.The bright emerald grass sticks to my damp feet.I feel the muggy humid air surround me and hear the insects buzz in my ear.I bask in the hot sunny light, feeling the warmth in the air,knowing that it will soon be replaced by a chilly breeze.

When the world is covered in shades of orange,I gaze admiringly at the beautiful autumn treeswearing my red scarf and grey sweater.I smell the cinnamon and smoke that touch my nose during the colorful season.I feel the fragile leaves made of the most brittle paper fall onto my open arms.I round up the leaves into the biggest mound, and leap into the heap of colorful, crumbling paper.I feel the sense of calm for fall, and the excitement of the approaching snow.

When my backyard becomes a frost palace,I watch the flurries swirl around in the air, like the twinkling stars of winter.I take in the sight of the exposed trees,even without their colorful blankets they are beautiful.They have lost the weight of leaves, now bare the burden of snow.I hear the loud wind, like a train whistle, blowing past me.I feel the icy snow dripping through my fingers.

So Much DependsEmily Eachus, Grade 6

So much dependsupon

The beautiful rainbow highin the atmosphere

Streaking the sky aftera gloomy rainy day

Bringing everyone who sees itswonderful light happiness.

Skylar Brown, Grade 7

My Fig TreeChloe Crooks, Grade 6

leaving the yard 100 different colors. I sneeze as the odor of the flowers overwhelm me. I sip the sweet tea, cooling me down after a hot day.

The sea of green makes waves as the wind blows in. It sways, tickling my ankles. The scent of sweet figs lure me up the tree. I take one and eat it,and it makes me want more. The birds sing to me and nothing could be better.

The branches of the worn trees are etched with the emotions of my 4th and 5th grade years. Memories blossom like the figs and flowers in the summer. It holds my childhood together; the tears,the joy, the laughter, and the fights. The tree doesn’t hold these memories, though; they fall to the ground. The fallen memories sprout another tree growing strong that mirrors our good times.

The dirt brown leavescrunch and snap under my shoes.The warm chili that my dad madeignites a spark inside me. I grasp the rough bark of the small treeand hoist myself up higher. The orange and purple lights of the citylook like a huge spider web. The sweet aroma of apple pie wafts through the window reaching me in my perch high above the ground.

The bright leaves of the evergreen trees surround this special place like a wall. I grip the icy branches and pull myself away from the problems on the ground.The frozen grass snaps under the small animals hurrying to and fro. Turkey dances in the air and finds its way to my nose telling me to come inside. The warm milk that my mom gives me warms me up after the cold short day.

The bees buzz, travelingfrom flower to flower, collecting pollen. I grab the silky petals soaring through the air like helicopters. The multicolored leaves, berries and flowersblossom anywhere they can,

When Snow Plunges to the GroundOrly Berke, Grade 6

The leaves are a bigger assortment of colors than I have ever seen.A rabbit hops right next to meThe trees sway, creating a relaxing mood. The leaves swirl in a spiral.Rosemary fills my lungs reminding me, It’s time to say goodbye to my bench It holds my memories.

It isn’t goodbye though.I actually like to think of it as hello.To the new year and goodbye to this year.

When snow plunges to the groundI hear the delicate birds whistle in my ear telling me their deepest secrets.The heavy gust consumes my warmth.A single snowflake lands on my tongue. The fresh immaculate smell brings me back to reality.It’s time to say goodbye to my benchA rock weathered by the rain.

The drizzly weather greets me like an old friend.A squirrel scampers up the tree anxious to get home. The birds trill hello to each other, to me.The sodden grass tickles my ankles.The fragrant smell of mint wafts toward me.It’s time to say goodbye to my benchNever losing its red shine.

I sip my refreshing drink as sweat pours down my back.I lounge on the smoldering bench.I hear the faint laughter of kids enjoying the warm weather. The sun beams right on me luckily my tree protects me, as thick warm air fills my lungs.It’s time to say goodbye to my benchThat helps balance me when times are tough.

Alyssa Kim, Grade 6Parker Stanford, Grade 6

Flu VaccineThomas Nimon, Grade 7

“Let’s go get flu shots!” The words ripped through my drowsy sleep like an arrow. Alarms blared monotonously in my head. Before I could protest I realized that I was already parked near a menacing dark brick building. I knew before that this was shot season by the Walgreens sign I had just slowly but proudly sounded out and read. I had been dreading it for what seemed like eternity, but I had no idea that we were going today, after our trip to my grandparents.

My dad dragged us into the lobby and after what seemed like forever he asked for four flu vaccinations; that large evil sounding word added to my overwhelming despair. The secretary saw the looks on my siblings’s and my face, and told us that this year they had a shipment of nasal spray substitutes that we could use instead. I instantly relaxed, I sighed, this is awesome. My worrying really was for nothing! We walked to the comfy couches and somehow the place got lighter and much less menacing.

I was as interested in my new savior as I was disinterested in shots. My mouth was exploding with questions on this new develop-ment, and daddy was just as happy to answer my questions. He was explaining how nasal spray worked when the gloomy secretary came back with the flu’s counterstrike; she told us that I could not take the spray because of my asthma. She said that the live bacteria, however minuscule the amount, would inflame my asthma and trigger an attack.

I was shocked, paralyzed, my worries came flooding back. The office instantly regained its cheerless and bleak qualities and I was frozen in fear. My dad offered to take the shot with me but that was not much comfort. He was forced to carry my onto the table as I shrieked “NOT YET, NOT YET!!!” over and over until the words really lost meaning and they became demoted into simple but vigorous sounds. All I could think of was how much it was going to hurt.

I realized later that minutes after the shot, I was still screaming for them not to do anything. I hadn’t felt a thing. In retrospect this is something to laugh about, but in truth there is a very important message; Leo Buscaglia said “Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy.” I took away a six-year-olds’ version of this truth that day, and although there is no way to eliminate that part of human nature, you can always try. In truth the worst pain of the entire circumstance was my own exaggerated portrayal of the event that lasted a million times longer than the actual shot; Worry is also around a million times stronger and limits what can be done now to solve some more immediate issue.

Wonders of NatureIsaac Waxenberg, Grade 6

As I trudge down scarlet brick stairs, observing the towering trees surrounding me, I feel a soft, soothing breeze ruffle my hair. As I scan the leaves, a peculiar shell catches my eye. I wash it off, and with renewed wonder I inspect the unique curves and beautiful colors of its grand frame. White as snow and light as a feather, I hold it in my hand, rolling it around like a ping pong ball. Though it is covered in dirt and grazed from years in the woods, it fits in my hand like a pearl in a clam. Every one of its battle-worn curls tell a story, its dagger-sharp tip tired from all of the battles it had fought. Every time I look at this tiny shell, I think of all of the other hidden wonders of nature waiting to be discovered.

Evelyn Ludwick, Grade 6

Silence of the WoodCreighton Arrington, Grade 6

The humid air glazes my bodyas I jump off the wooden stairs.Bees greet me with a warning buzz,and the cows moo at me from behind the fence.From the sturdy porch I observe the muddy pond by the road, and the tall grass invading the hill.I wipe the sweat off my skin,as I hop over the silent garden.I reek of vigorous stenchesthat keep me outside on the long porch.

The thin, rough air folds around my body when I land hard on the dry, lifeless dirt.I glare down the road at a sprinting raccoon who is crunching leaves to flakes.The leafless trees arch over meprotecting me from the light rain.The bits of dried dead leaves flyto the black, fuzzy boots that cover my frigid feet.I pull myself up to the wonderful sturdy porchthat allows me to rest on the comforting metal rocking chair.

Grandma’s porch with the beautiful silence and the lovely isolation of the deep woods cradles my childhood,sprouts my love,and molds my fertile imagination.

While the air is crisp and icy,I pile myself in raggedy, uneven winter clothes,ready to sprint outside.The frosty wood planks thump as I pound my feet against them.I gaze at the whistling wind,hauling tiny flurries to my feet.I perch on my Nana’s newly built porch,beaming down at the white coated mountain.I spot the emerging evergreens,and the road that leads to the deep woods.

When the clean air fills the outdoorsI embrace the vivid grass blades.The garden sprouts beautiful flowers that calm my muscles with plentiful scents of sweet sugar.Hummingbirds dive bomb mewhile I scamper off Grandma’s narrow porch.Bees interrupt the peaceful silencewhen they chase me back up to the clean wooden stairs.I cower behind the hanging flower pots full of water hidden in the leaning yellow blossoms.

Chloe Crooks, Grade 6Lily Scott, Grade 7

Grandfather's CouchKistler Hampton, Grade 6

I take a chomp out of my ice cream sandwichin attempt to cool myself down. The result is me covered in melted ice cream.I almost forgot about the stale stench coming from my dog’s room.As soon as the smell came into my nose, I almost barfed. I pick up my glass of root beer and chug it. The strong taste of root beer overpower the aromaand drain it out of my body. I sigh in relief until I hearthe complaints of the heatcoming from my cousins and grandfather.

The doorbell rang and it’s about time.I sprint to the door and almost trip.I open the door, take the pizza, and pay the man.I run back and nearly toss the pizza on the table.I didn’t want to miss a second of the game I sink my teeth into the well prepared pizza.When I open my eyes, the opposing team scores.I nearly spit out the slice of pizza.My dog is strutting back and forth as if also upset.

My memories are like loose change in the cracks of the couchmore change will go in and some might even be dug up by my younger siblings.

Through the window I see the soft fragile snow trickledown to the ground. It is hard to see thoughbecause my dog is huddled around meto keep me warm.I softly push the dog awayand take a sip of my delicious hot cocoa. I call for my dog,but all I hear are whimpers. My dog begs me to let her play in the soft blanket of snow, but I couldn’t let anymore cold air in.

My eyes are wide open.I’ve never seen the house so clean before.The smell of flowers filled the roomwith an enthusiastic aroma.Everything was dusted and organized, and it was amazing.Alas, one idea led to another and I remembered my grandmother.I glide my hands across the couchwhere my grandmother drew her last breath.I sigh and take a bite out of my chocolate barand good memories return.

The bloodthirsty mosquitoes hover over my arms.I take a whack at them and they scatter,but soon enough they return.

Dawson Brown, Grade 8Zoë Chamberlain, Grade 8

Trampoline TreeHaley Rice, Grade 6

After I have trudged through the icy frost of winter, I rise up on to the bare tree coveredin all of the unique pieces of white.I start hopping up and down on the tree covered in frost.When I have gotten enough momentum, I spring up into the pile of last night’s snowfall.As my face hits the tiny crystals of ice, it burns.I try jumping on the tree again because I don’t believe in giving up.

Once I have skipped through the pathwaythat represents the colorful happiness of spring,I climb up on the tree.As I am climbing up to the top branch,I gaze out at the sapphire blue sunlit sky.

When I dash down the trail of dark brown,scrunched up flowers, I feel the humid, stuffy weather of summer rushing up against my face.I arrive at the drooping tree, stand on the wobbly branch,and bounce until I accidentally plunge down onto my stomach.I get up and try again because I don’t want to leave.

After I saunter up to the tree, I study the eleganceof the pumpkin-filled, leaf-piled, fall.When I climb up to the bare trees and start to bounce,I look up at the almost bare trees surrounding me.I plummet backwards onto my back into the enormous brown,scrunched-up pile of leaves that have fallen from the high, brown, bare trees.I get up and try again because I love jumpingfrom the trampoline tree into a pile of rust colored leaves.

Now I am five hours away from that tree,and I still love going up to it and climbing the high branch.I have had so many memories from that tree,and I know I will always remember as I grow up.

Erika Lammon, Grade 7Atherton Mook, Grade 8

An Unusual Use of ForksAutumn Seymour, Grade 7

The process begins with a special fork.This is the only waythat the process will work.I finger it gently in my hands,looking at the shiny metalas my careful eye scans.I look for any yellowish spots,leftover food,or mysterious dots.I put the fork backand pick up anotherfrom the small stack.This one is absolutely, positively perfect,all nice and shiny,and not at all flecked!

The fork’s real job comes into playat about 11:30every week daywhen I set down my plate,snatch up the fork,sorry everyone, it cannot wait.I stab my favorite, shining utensilinto my pizza;I don’t care if I’m mental.The sharp end of the fork goes right below the crust,the right, exact place.I don’t know why, but I must.

I slowly lift the fork up to my open jawscarrying the pizzaI hope this fork is without flawsas I bite into the soft flesh of the pizza.

The pizza is finally, finally doneand I thank the fork one final timefor serving its purpose not for onebut for all the people in the world.

From the Editors

We had great fun reading submissions and working on the editing and design of Illuminate, the second year of Baylor’s Middle School Literary Magazine. To us, it is important to see our peers strive for excellence in both writing and in the arts.

Thank you to so many Baylor students for taking the time and effort to submit your pieces. The submissions were so great that we, as editors, found it very difficult to make decisions on which ones to publish.

We would like to thank Amy Cohen, our faculty sponsor, Caleb Ludwick, our parent advisor, and Barbara Kennedy of Baylor’s Communications Department for bringing this magazine to what it is today. This magazine will allow others to appreciate the work of our fellow students. We hope that it inspires you to continue doing what you love.

Please consider submitting your original writing and artwork

to next year’s literary magazine...talk with Ms. Cohen!

baylorschool.org/middleschoollitmag