by Avery G., Age 12
, Grade 7, Southeast Junior High, Iowa City, IOWA USA
I am from a land of the extremes
Not the Arctic, or the Sahara Desert,
From the soggy heat of what seems like a Florida summer that makes You feel like a walking puddle. To the dry, bitter cold of an Antarctic feeling winter into spring.
From sweet cool breezes of fall and spring (When it’s not pouring).
I am from the depths.
Cold and dark,
In the damp deeps of the world.
Not the ocean, Pacific, Atlantic, Indian, or Arctic, no water at all in fact,
Of these many places,
Only one can I call my own.
The basement is my
I am from thunderstorms,
From the flash of lightning and boom of thunder!
With the smell of ozone heavy in the air.
From the thick raindrops pounding my window, Zeus’s anger grows,
And Ares laughs as the gods above clash until all but cease to exist...
I am from the quiet,
From the peaceful chirp of birds,
And the sway of the lush, green underbrush
With water droplets dripping as Fox Squirrels scamper through the Maple Trees,
This is the U.S. Wilderness at a relieving peace,
This is harmony,
This is life after a storm