Embedded Files
The seasons by Bryan Zhang
Alone, I walked on the empty road and watched:
first came pale green wind and rain
as if the earth had just woken from slumber
the flowers bloomed along the road
youthful and vulnerable
then the firm and strong heat arrived
it’s conviction unshakable
unbreakable and brave
but I still walked the path, under the burning sun
soon, the gusts and rotting leaves fell
the once clear road now covered
in the remains of the once alive
but I tread on, stepping on their corpses
the harsh cold silence finally came
taking the road over with a desolate pride
it’s cruel grip decorating the once lively road
now covered in snow, lifeless
But still, I walk this road alone,
I walk on these lonely trails
laced with the memories of those that fell
Seasons change.
Sayontika Bhattacharya, Mixed media
November by Audrey Nash
The frosty gust
Begins to blow over
The mountains. It carries white dust
And strong thrusts to bare the leafy cover
All the color fades to gray and brown— the sky
A shade of silver hue. Creatures rush to fill their supply
Fast before the long months of frigid and unforgiving weather .
Here’s November
Autumn by Bryan Zhang
Cold rays of sun
Shine through gaps in the leaves
Whose orange glows so bright, not one
Critter nor fauna could resist these thieves
Of soggy mood. Though as squirrels and bears scarper
To cozy caves, the angle of the bright light grows sharper
As if a stern warning of the coming frost which whispers: Behold
Here comes the cold
Sayontika Bhattacharya, Mixed media
Little Leaves Welcome Little Snowflakes by Audrey Nash
The little leaf
Clutches a sturdy twig
As brisk breeze blows with no relief.
The snowflakes hurry to flurry back big—
Patient enough has the cold been all year long
Waiting for this winter weather to return strong.
Fall leaves become frosty once the sun becomes weak and weary
Yet glows dearly
Is it summertime in January if I squint my eyes? by Bryan Zhang
Sometimes, when I wake I’d lose my eyes,
I could only hear, I could only feel.
I won’t be able to see for myself
if the calming springtime you promised is real.
But I can still feel the gentle drizzle on my chest,
I could still hear the floral aroma around my hands.
Or I think I can, I want to think I can.
Yet every night, I would pray and hope
that tomorrow I don’t wake up and discover.
It's January.
Shifting Seasons by Audrey Nash
Spring
Balmy, Bloom
Seeding, Germinating, Sprouting
Tulips, Daffodils; Peonies, Dahlias
Relaxing, Exploring, Grilling
Verdant, Refreshing
Summer
Radiant, Tropical
Sweating, Tanning, Recessing
Free time, Sunshine; Schooltime, Cloud shine
Changing, Cooling, Comforting,
Colorful, Bountiful
Autumn
Chilly, Breezy,
Preparing, Indulging, Savoring,
Harvests, Feasts; Holidays, Festivities
Freezing, Giving, Warming,
Quiet, Patient
Winter
Anjie Chen, Ceramic
Anonymous, Digital Art
Flowers blossom by Bryan Zhang
Flowers blossom into pretty valleys
Cities under siege, oncoming volleys
pebble common streets, depleting lamp-lights.
City walls now come undone, and the night
Hide what once were our homely alleys.
Every soldier fought for sad finales
Every mother mourned at tragic rallies
Corpses burn and ashes scatter, take flight.
Flowers blossom.
Battle’s lost and cities making tallies
Battles’ end is coming, sorrows shall leave
Battled grounds, and hearts will give up their fights
Soon, bombarded streets will heal from their blight
Joy shall fill once-empty streets and alleys:
Flowers blossom.
Beginning of Spring by Audrey Nash
It’s the music of the morning
Sung by the gleeful chickadees who find the dawn adorning.
The forsythia sun shines through the misty haze,
The sleeping flowers slowly drift from their concealed phase.
How lovely it is to smell the pungent rebirth,
And see the little babes come forth!
Fawns with white spots,
Chicks in twig cots.
Rivers trickle again
Through the lively fen.
Children return outside,
Relieved to run away from parental abide.
Magic melodies slowly warm the air
The weather’s mostly fair.
With a crisp wind to mellow out the hot sun,
Makes us want to go do something fun.
Sick of sitting, cooped up like birds,
We want to stretch our wings and spread our words.
Take a deep breath to embrace what’s now come,
Taste the sweetness of sunlight’s outcome.
Hear the little whisper, from the willow across the way,
And watch as its shadow scares the last of winter away.
Clouds dissipate, clearing the sky for more space.
These young spring days, filled with grace.
Rainy days fuel the flow from winter to spring.
Although they do restrict the young wing,
Some fellows still make it aloft.
Damp days also make the soil soft,
Nice and easy to work your tools through,
And too much makes mud, too.
During April, by Bryan Zhang
Gentle spring returns with drizzles and warm sun,
Tepid watercolor seeps back into grey woods and mounts,
With tiredness from the year before washed away like stains
Under the ceaseless soothing rain, whose pitter-pattering
Remains everlasting beside bedroom windows, as if an open
Invitation, informing residents within:
Spring is here, Spring is here.
Though crystal skies might be blocked by the gentle sight
Of veils formed under herds of misty air, and waking buds
Are just barely reaching their tender figures above the mud,
The waking earth is already restless, extending its arms
Towards the sky, attempting to swash the clouds away
With flocks of birds and winds of change; The clouds
Remain stubbornly in place, playfully jeering at the half-asleep
Efforts of the earth, whose loud thunderous cries bring about
A new wave of growth and birth, informing the latecomers that:
Spring is here, Spring is here.
As newborns wake and drift off once more to the rhythm
Of thunder and rain, mothers and fathers look at each other
With calm and joy at the consistency of another year gone by,
Their houses surrounded by the calming lullaby of raindrops
Running through the temperate climate, And as the family collectively
Sinks deeper into the mellow embrace of spring weather,
The earth, now recovered from its childish fit, lovingly oversees
Them off to sleep, its gentle gaze informing all who can see:
Spring is here, Spring is here.
Sharanya Vaidianathan, photograph
Here’s to the Sun Anonymous
Here’s to the sun that illuminates our world.
To its efforts of rising every morning in the east
And setting every evening in the west.
Here’s to its magical essence that allows bright flowers to grow,
And what provides us with bountiful fruit from the farm.
We often overlook its significance,
Up there so high—
Floating across the baby-blue sky.
Here’s to our sun, for returning each day
To bring a glimpse of heaven into all of our lives.
Green Grass Beneath Bare Feet Anonymous
Every strand between my toes,
The luscious green squishes beneath bare soles.
Watch out for little bumblebees
Hiding under cover clover leaves.
The soil is soft, but not over-saturated.
This carpet is a comfy cushion before it gets deflated.
Although sometimes the little tips tickle my skin.
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