# data[].attributes.body
Lightning. Rain. Thunder. Crash. The sounds perceived as harsh and scary, is what ends up comforting you. The piddle paddle of the raindrops hitting your windowsill, and gently gliding down your windows. The crash of thunder booming excitement into you. The flash of lightning glowing the night sky. You sit there, under the warmth of your blanket, as the thunder storm lights up the bland starry night you're so used to.

~ Samira Azam 823

# data[].attributes.body
Poached up.

The slay creature creeps.

His fur is as bright as the sun, providing him warmth through his entire journey.

Gleaming eyes that stare at you, passing right through your body.

Strivers streaming down your spine.

The winter fox expresses his wrath.

Soft, smooth snow glistens, shining, as he prances down the forest.

The white rabbits attempt to hide, only exciting him.

Paw prints follow the fox as he pounces.

Destroyed, dead, gone.

As he walks with a head held high.
- Jessica Zawadzki 823

# data[].attributes.body
Dog bark and run. Children cry and shout pulling the covers over their head. No-one is at ease. They start boarding up windows as something is coming. You can see the darkness looming over all creating  a shadow of darkness over all. Looming behind the gray sky. Suddenly there is a flash of light followed by the boom of his shout. His fury scare the toughest of warriors, the strongest of kingdoms and even the fearless. He voice scatter reaching the farthest reaches of earth. There is no escape. You can't run. You can't hid. His wrath is inevitable

# data[].attributes.body
Beautiful nature. Tall winter autumn trees stand,it reflects through water.

Water. Cold and filled with leaves. It creates a sense of peace,freedom,and love.

I move even closer. And I see the long wide pond. In this joyful moment

before the wind blows and shakes the strong trees, I admire its

leaves who shall fall in any second, like all its other leaves who had fallen into the pond all brown and dead, all different shapes and sizes,  tiny rainbow in the corner- and the happines turns to wow, and to excitement.

It all must have survived countless storms,rain,and humans. It's prepared to defend with many sharp spikes. A large howling wind. It strikes
- Jessica Monge 827

# data[].attributes.body
In the fall of 1980, a boy lived in the small family of a town in the middle of Oregon. The forest was on one side, which trickled down from the blank snow capped mountains; and on the other side, the grassy plain that extended for miles, with the only cracked, bumpy road that connected the sleazy town to the rest of the world, and the occasional farmhouse that popped up from the flat line horizon that was the consensus for miles. The boy walked past the retro diner, the slightly shabby car shop, which was painted white, and splintered in some parts, past the post office, the humble Nursery school; down the characteristically  cracked sidewalk of his town. He knew every part of it like the back of his hand; better than it almost. He reached the vintage gas station, currently unused. Behind the gas station was the edge of the forest’s outstretched arms. He entered the forest trail, with the chirps of birds, the fluttering of wings, the scattering of squirrels, and the crunch of fallen leaves with every leisurely step. He looked above and around him- to see the nice blue sky, the white clouds, and the endearing alpine forest with its caring gaze over him with offers of rays of sunlight leaking through. The boy started his climb up the rocky steps of the mountain, sometimes a gradual climb through a path some person was kind enough to make through the rocky terrain, and other times it’d be the adventure of making it over the rocks as he went up and down them like a surfer on top of the waves. Eventually the boy reached a certain point on a flat contour supported by a few rocks. He had been here multiple times before, and almost had set up a crude basecamp of sorts. Here he could overlook everything, with the forest, the flocks of birds in flight, and his small town slightly in the distance; and from here he could also see where the plain ended and where the ocean began, just before the curve of the earth, with its rocky shores. By now the crimson red of the evening was soon to engulf the baby blue that it was before, like pouring paint from the top of a canvas and allowing it to ooze its way down. He stayed there for a bit, to soak it in, with the air starting to dampen with the cold, staring at the sunset, and an eagle’s distant cry from its forest nest. “This is life.” he thought.

- Wynn Chang 823

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As the night goes on. The snow falling. The darkness consumes the night and lets people relax. The cold air with the dark night embraces you. The beautiful snow and stars shining as you look out.  And all you can do is look and see the beauty.

-Joshua Lee

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I look outside, and see the memories of days past. So many things live in there, moving, squirming, eating, unseen by the world. It is a time capsule, a private ecosystem of sorts, always remaining the same no matter what happens outside of it. So many things have changed,  but its beauty will always be the same, and its tranquility and nostalgia will eternally be constant.

- Yuming Zhu 823

# data[].attributes.body
Rain drops. The sound of the rain dripping on the windows. It relaxes you. Like Mother Nature singing you a lullaby. As you sit in your car, you watch the lights from apartments drift by. Cars flashing by. The rain continues to pour. You start to remember the littlest thing. Like how you used to jump in puddles. Or how you used to huddle in your bed, watching your favorite cartoon. The rain soothes your soul. One after another, the rain drips. Your eyes grow drowsy. Buildings after buildings. Lights after lights. Lights growing dim... rain...after...rain........ zzzzz

# data[].attributes.body
The winters blow. A gust of wind so strong that it can knock you off your feet. A gust of wind so cold, it can freeze your hair. Flurries of snow raining from the sky as you ski down the mountain. The view from the top is nothing you could ever recreate. Its so special that even words cant describe it. All you can do is see it for yourself.

- Daniel P (823)

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Daisies. Bright. Cheerful. Beautiful. Independent. The petals glimmering in the sun. Little buds into a breath-taking flower. Comes in different colorful shades. White. Pink. Red. Blue.
Winter. Waiting for the season to end. Seeing the snow fall down. Freezing its snow white petals. The wind blowing harshly. Petals breaking one by one. Slowly dying. Crumbling. Waiting to re-grow. Months later. Sitting on a hot summer day in a garden meadow. "She loves me, she loves me not". The second you see this flower, you'll be amazed. You'll always have a smile on your face.

See you next year.

~ Emma A (823)

# data[].attributes.body
The night goes on. The stars illuminate the sky with the little light they have. The darkness comforts others, and lets people rest. The darkness that embraces you. Stars light your way. They have seen thousands of things take place. From the moment your great great great grandmother was born, to when you will DIEEE. They will lead, and guide you on, and comfort during sleepless nights.

# data[].attributes.body
White snow. Freezing raindrops, crystalizing into majestic shapes, no two alike. A nice gust of wind, carrying the freshly formed snow across thousands of meters. Within minutes, the once grey and busy streets turn into an untouched white wonderland. The roofs now covered with an icy cold blanket of snow. The beauty, only lasting a couple of days, is indescribable. No picture or painting can possibly describe all of winter's beautiful creations. All you can do is look out and absorb the beauty.
Ted Lee - 823

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I went out searching today, I went out searching. The streets are neglected like orphans nowadays; The streets remind me of the days Leonard Mead would walk the misty November. I stopped by a house. A house whose curtains didn't shut me out. I gazed in and saw girl. She was your age. Cute. Be that as it may, her eyes revealed of her unspoken sadness that lay trapped inside her, who is muted inside the house, which is surrounded in a mist of mutated fog.

I wanted to release her sadness. Be happy. To carry the shining sun up the sky was worth it, for I saw a hint of surprise on her face that was enough to distill her polluted eyes. I wanted to give her color. Be free. I drizzled some elegant drops of rain that politely pushed the fog aside, and she slowly stepped out her door, into the street. A brightening street. I dared not remove the warming sun nor the cooling droplets, for her smile deserves to last an eternity. So I just left it there, a Sun-Shower.

# data[].attributes.body
It goes on. The deafening roar of the falls reaching deep in your ears and yelling through a blowhorn. Destructive. Majestic. Each individual molecule of water moving with a purpose, with pomp, as if participating in a ritual. But it goes on. It has gone on for thousands of years. It will go on for thousands more. It has survived countless wars, conflicts, weather phenomenons, but it shows no signs of going away. The ancient age of the waterfall juxtaposed with the young, delicate new greenery.

It goes on.

Ryan Park 823

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They walk.  They don’t know where they're going, but they walk. As they walk, they examine the glistening sun reflecting off the water.  The grass and trees are raging with green.  The trees go on and on, one after another. Endless.  The sun shines.  Shines so bright it reflects off the Mallard’s head.  The water ripples by the softest touch of wind.  As they walk, they look closer.  Under the water are evil spirits that haunt them.  These spirits are so mighty as they keep growing and growing.  These spirits bruise the ducks' souls.  The ducks swim around in the polluted water with a frown.
- Kara Yip 823

# data[].attributes.body
Dog brak and run. Children cry and shout pulling the covers over their head. People all have worried looks on their faces. They start boarding up windows as something is coming. You can see the darkness looming over all creating  a shadow of darkness over all. Tooming behind the gray sky. Suddenly there is a flash of light followed by the boom of his shout. His fury scare the toughest of warriors, the strongest of kingdoms and even the fearless. He voice scatter reaching the farthest reaches of earth. There is no escape. You can't run. You can't hid. His wrath is inevitable

# data[].attributes.body
Darkness. A massive stretch of blackness, enveloping the eyes where there had once been light. Adjusting to darkness is quite a task.  Blind even with open eyes, seeing but seeing nothing. Seeing nothing. Nothing. Nothing but black. Moving around and still. Quiet and loud. Absent but there. Through the darkness, somewhere in the distance, there must be a light. A light so bright the world is visible again. Not yet. Not here, never here. Never. Unwavering darkness is a calming prescence after a while, isn't it? Its predictability brings comfort. It brings warmth to a world left cold without light.
-Anelyse Lopez 823

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The world revolves, keeping the cycle of seasons. Walking across this beach the draft of cool ocean winds fill the air. Your eyes tell you it's summer, but your body says the contrary. It's winter. The ever so bright rays of the sun enlighten the waves, highlighting the glistening blue sea. Though merely a glance, the endless streak of the bay seduce your eyes. The sight is beautiful.

-Eric Leem

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He tried. He ran as fast as he could, faster than the wind. Faster than the lion, who was stick thin, and rapidly slowing down. The scenery rushed by, and he was practically flying. He would have escaped. He nearly did. That’s when he saw it. A glint of metal. He tried to slow down, but he was going too fast, rushing face-first into a human-made wire fence. He was well aware of the lion right behind him, stalking closer as he attempted to untangle himself. As the lion got closer and closer, his efforts became more and more desperate, and by some miracle, he was free. The lion seemed to discern this too, and as soon as the realization dawned in the lion’s eyes, the buck knew he was dead. The lion pounced on him in an instant, ripping through fur, flesh, and organs alike. Slowly, the buck died, light fading from its eyes, staring unseeing into the distance as its spirit rose to the heavens. Just before he died, he stared out to the open fields, ignoring the pain in his hind legs, thinking if only…
-Ada Hwang

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It blooms. Seeds flying around with the win. It's bright. Beautiful. Just like the sun. It sprouts with others. The tall grass sways, copying the motion of the sunflower leaves. People walk past it. Someone steps on the flower, breaking its structure. It crumbles, broken, as it's seeds lay on the grass. The couple seeds that left, blow into another field, to grow once more. Into another great sunflower.
-Ivan Cheng 823

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The sky. A pale orange spreads across the horizon.  A milkish pink is splattered in the dim, blue sky. It's a painting. It's a colorful palate, but slowly fading. The sun. It sinks into the dark ocean of trees. They sway to the wind, saying farewell. The sky starts to get colder, the warm pink starts to fade away. Time quickly ticks away, till alas, its no more. Overwhelmed, by a rich, dark blue. A temporary beauty. It eventually becomes a monotonous sky, lacking beauty.
-Caleb Hahn 823

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Glancing over the spell-struck water. The majestic and regal stance. Tranquil with peace. A reflection of the rich hues of the sky above. The skyline envelops, surrounds the edges of your view, off in the distance of the unknown. The blissful sky. The blend of the colors of the resplendent palette of the world, the approach of the night a creative mastermind. The final moments of light before the darkness murks, braces in serenity. A marriage of the pungent, rich blue; the silky, smooth purple; the wispy, gentle pink; and the reflective, yet vibrant orange.  The darkness of the perceived trees winding in front, shading, blocking the vast spectacle beyond. The fusion of bold and vivid spirit. The liveliness of pure light. Induces, ignites, enlightens life. Your soul embraces, present more than ever. The scene opens up your eyes to sensation. Thrill. Wonder. Nature and the universe, a distinct, resplendent view. A scene out of a picture book and fairytale, all at the same time. So simplistic, yet mounts with such poise and elegance. The rush of the instant. Of the value of the raw purities of life. Overwhelms, penetrates your mind, a marvel of glee overtakes. Grateful.
~Alisha Vohra

# data[].attributes.body
The ground, still white and slippery. Plants wither and trees shake and fall. The colorful autumn leaves disappear as the cold strikes them at their heart. Snow and cold cold spell strikes the ground. I could see children go outside and having fun with their parents as if they never had fun before. WInter's spell strikes both as a beauty and curse.

# data[].attributes.body
Still sky. White clouds are softly painted, across the open blue. Picturesque. Striking yet muted. Soft white puffs litter the sky, gently curves, perfect lines. The vast open waters. The waves are splashing in the sun. The beautiful scenery there was just like an oil painting, the sky a breathtaking blue ombre faded in the back, and just below the white mass decorating the sky an azure-stained body of water, meadows framing the ethereal background, patches of green grass-waving softly in the cool wind, an opulent sight.

It must have seen many different characters, creatures, or just nothing. Having existed for countless decades in this world. A timeless memory now. It rises.

Fiona Ying

# data[].attributes.body
Comes winter. And comes my favorite day, with snow sprinkled everywhere. Calm. Everything fairly distributed. The stunning image of beauty, of cold, of peace. Sight to be seen. Now I feel the new atmosphere. The fresh crunch below thats simulated with each step taken, the barren trees that have become one complex snowflake itself, being covered with the feeling of cold while lazily drinking a cup of hot chocolate, the careless snowmans made everywhere, even my hands that freeze-- most days just dreams of hope, today a reality. 

Surrounded by air that is sharply cold, comfortless, I am comforted. Comforted by the stillness and the quiet scenery. Comforted by the snow. By winter. 

# data[].attributes.body
Changing scenery. Leaves swaying to the movement of the wind. Colorful. Distinct as stars. Falls on the wet, damp floor to be stepped on. It creates a mood around me. The gentle wind blows around to let a leaf fall on my shoulder. The power of nature, taking place from here to there. Trees too, grow and die. A bright, green, vibrant tree to a shriveling, orange, leafed tree. The color stained on the floor, it's touch, it's everlasting sight.

It's unnoticeable, but still there. For what it has seen for the countless times people pass by becomes a still, quiet, memory. Vibrant Autumn
- Salman Zahid 823

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The trees. One after the other, blocking the sunlight with its mighty leaves. You take in theses details as you sprint across the damp soil. The plants that lay on the ground give color to the brown. The thrill that comes to you as the sun starts to set and the light that barely peaks out of the leaves gets dimmer and dimmer. As you take a break by a trunk, you can see the roots and how far they stretch across the forest floor. The amount of stories that the roots hold underneath the ground make you question the importance of your existence. It's the tiny detail that you have to think about that makes it truly the forest

# data[].attributes.body
It stands. Leaves swaying to the rhythm of the gentle wind. Majestically. Standing with dignity. Each leaf shines in the sun, like stars, like lamps, like fire. Remains fazed by nothing. The image of itself lingers in me. Despite its grand stance, behind its colorful arrays of dangling leaves, it gently weeps as it struggles against time and the force of nature; even though it combats the frigid air, the oppression of mans’ works, and the ever shrinking care of its surroundings, it still presents a wonder to viewers eyes-when deep down, it struggles to stay alive.

How art can deceive all who pass by, all who admire it, and all who talk of it. It contains all of its burden to itself. While in a world that is a muddy field. A gem.

-Christian kim 823

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She tried.  Mother zebra battled the attacker, defending her young foal.  Determined.  Brave and strong.  She confidently kicks with grit, with hope, with motive.  Her baby will survive.  Some things just aren't meant to be.  Mother zebra's forced to retreat with a forlorn look, the steely look of determination already replaced by solemn mourning, she watches as the predator disembowels her baby into a broken, bloody mess, a shadow of what was, and the mother desolately departs ---to mourn over the sad news, in the herd.
The pain in her eyes extremely evident, obvious, and completely unmistakable.  She's ready to return victorious in subsequent battles.  Defend next spring's foal.  She tries.
~ Thaddeus Jones 823

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I walked. Along the sea, talking to the white foam cuddling my foot. My foot envelops the warm sand  as it seeps in between my cold toes.  The distinct blue hue of the water reflects the sun back to the pink clouds. It's nothing like I have ever seen before, the waves scrambling over each other to get to the shore first. Because there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it is sent away. Once the sea casts it's spell it holds one in its trance forever. To feel the breath a mist moving over a great salt marsh, to watch the flight of sea birds as they cast a shadow over the heads of those looking up in wonder takes up into a whole other dimension. One where it's only the sea, and you.
(Alissa Cyriac)

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I look back to the memory of spring. Remembering how they bloomed so beautifully from being little buds to flowers with many vibrant pink individual petals. She filled the tree. She gave the trees some life into their souls. It's hues and various saturated shades built character. One were to pass by the tree, she would as if cast a sparkle of hope. No matter what day it was. Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Rainy. Gloomy. Dark. The flowers would never fall nor even touch the cement and cracks of the sidewalk.

I hold the photograph in the tips of my fingers. I am standing on the same sidewalk, and same view. I look up from the picture from months ago. Up at the tree who's shadow is upon me. To see the tree bare from its trunk to its branches.

# data[].attributes.body
The ocean is like the friend that you can just sit silently with and enjoy the time. Not a single sound but you reach such a deep understanding of each other. Artists and musicians marvel at the distinct blue glow of the Mediterranean, like nothing you've ever seen before. Sliding your toes into the warm salty water, and your feet hit a soft green plush, moss. The fish all gather around your feet like a long awaited guest. They don't get many visits. The sound of waves crashing at your feet takes you away, off into a whole other world.  Swimming through reefs of blue, yellow, and green, it feels just like a fantasy. Just before the night dusks, you climb onto the jagged rocks, your toes still wet, and wonder. Is this what peace truly is?

(Audrey Effros)