I pull on my old, oversized skates and awkwardly
clamber onto rough ice.
As I head out, I am broadsided
by a gust of chilly, refreshing air.
All around, people seem
to float by me,
gliding effortlessly over hazy, white ice.
We embark toward transparently-black ice which lies like a crystal carpet
several hundred yards away.
I am quickly outdistanced by my classmates as I stumble
behind. When I finally reach
my destination, I am amazed.
The ice here is a frozen pond of sizzling 7-Up.
Eerily thick, the gelid water below it rests stationary.
This ice is more to my preference.
Skating comes more easily upon it; gliding feels as light as floating in air.
I think I am starting to get the hang of this.

The pitcher's hand whips down.
My eyes lock on the ball,
concentrating, as it spins in towards me.
A curve, and the pitcher had left it hanging belt-high.
Crack! I crush the ball down the left field line.
Off the wall, I round second as
the ball rolls into the corner of the grassy field.
A single hopper from left field and
Pop!
The ball hits the third baseman's glove,
just as my hand
scrapes against the base.

Dark lashes encircle
aquamarine eyes.
Short brown hair
blankets the top of my head,
like a turtle's shell envelopes
his round body. A unique,
circular patch of white hair
stands out on the dark surface
like a flashlight in a dark room.
My short, curved nose
sports a blunt tip.
War-wounds stand on my face
with temerity:
my trophies
of athletic participation,
encompassed in a
five foot, four inch
frame.

We sneak through frightening woods
in the middle of a frigid, black night.
Silence surrounds us,
except for the occasional
crack
of a twig
as we move through flickering shadows.
We slam to a halt,
holding our breaths.
Had something moved?
Noiselessly
we listen, but hear
nothing.
We press on quickly, but
more carefully. Then
suddenly two guards leap out
of the thick bushes like foxes on their prey.
Ambushed!
Dodging flour bombs,
we dash through noisy woods.
Powder explodes all around us in a fine mist.
I hear a yell and know
someone is hit.
Towards base, we run with all our might.
Like people fleeing persecution we escape to
freedom.

Light understands darkness
like a war general knows his enemy.
Each battles, like a Warrior, to be in control.
When light is dominant, it beats darkness down,
master over his slaves.
But darkness, a vengeful servant,
catches light unaware and usurps his throne.

Stationary bubbles
stuck in ice
like stars in the night sky:
petrified, frozen in time,
holding no significance,
affecting nothing until
violent sun rays quickly reach their
optimal warmth. Rays strike
the ice like a boxer to his opponent,
slowly wearing it away.
The bubbles, like hibernating bears
released from restriction,
waddle into the wild.

Light blue eyes flicker on a
peach-colored face.
Dusty brown hair
drifts
over the top of my head.
Tall, six-foot-three, boy.
Resides in McCall.
Fourteen years of age,
working hard through the eighth grade.
Actively plays basketball and football.
Mows lawns like an ant.
Me!

The main reason that people like golf is that someone can drive a ball three hundred yards and then make a completely different shot, trying to avoid an obstacle. Then he can attempt a short shot on the putting green, which is a large spot of short grass where the hole is located. In baseball, a player can only hit the ball about half the distance, and it will not be as accurate as a shot in golf. This is why golf is one of the fastest growing sports.

Spring Meadow

New grasses sprout up,
like bullets out of nowhere,
rising from soft, luscious ground.
Greenish blue swallows sing divinely.
Iris, silky petals glowing purple, dance as
wedding bells ring softly in slow breezes.
Brilliant shooting stars reach for indigo sky, while
snowy-white Sego Lilies flood
sweet and wild scent into fresh surroundings.
Various green grasses crowd other spacious valleys,
too. Meadows fill themselves
with a brilliance of spring.

The Basketball Game

The lights overhead send a brilliant yellow, illuminating glow
about the room. The burnt-orange basketball
sails toward the hoop. A resounding crack
echoes
through a nearly-silent court
as the ball slices
through the net. Seconds later, a buzzer sounds,
signifying the end of the game.
Cheering and clapping follow
as excited teammates surround you.
You have won
the game.

Jack O'Lantern

Jack's smirk is everlasting
and his stationary position
allows him to see all!

When I unclip my feet from my board after that first day on the hill, my feet always feel free again. I grab my snowboard and make my way to my car, feeling, once again, like I've accomplished something.

A warm spring always feels rejuvenated
after a tediously long, chilling Winter.
without Winter's morose repression,
spring wouldn't feel as fresh and new.
Relentless Winter orchestrates Spring's praised entrance.
if it were always Spring,
the slightest snowfall
would be as celebrated as
Christmas.

Dreams comprise both colors,
which alternate unceasingly; bumblebees
in flight.

When I am with my horse
all sounds fall silent,
except for the drumbeat of his hooves,
landing
on soft sand.
Stillness reigns,
as my thoroughbred's
smooth, ebony mane flies upwards
with every bouncy step.
Together we take off
over crossed cardinal-and-gold-striped jumps,
holding our breath.
The world watches
as we fly through the air,
safely landing on the other side.
My gelding prances through a pile
of rust and amber leaves --
which shiver off the now-bare
tree that
towers above us.
Wind whispers
through crisp air
and bites my scarlet cheeks.
As the alpenglow precedes the night,
I dismount,
leading my companion
to the safety of his barn.

Faliure and Success
are like brothers, so close to each other:
only a thin line
separates them.
Success, to me, could be Failure to another.
Sharing the same characteristics,
Failure and Success
understand each other,
and come to a liking,
accepting their positions as equals.

Sliding,
softly skating over black ice.
White figure skates stand out like fresh blood
seeping through powdery snow. Catching
a silver blade, I slam
downward with terrific force upon thick ice,
(once under my feet; now at my side). Pain
runs through my body.
Struggling to stand,
I raise my head heavily to see everyone
staring and chuckling.
Laughing hyenas, they
seem to be. I
push myself up
and daringly try again.

Utopia

by Erica Laidlaw

Reality:
    a farfetched thought;
    a heretic objecting to the society in which he lives;
    a dreamer's dream (but only a dream);
    a being who fears life's game and longs for another opportunity at the sport,

Image:
    a place where neither death nor life will trouble one;
    a milieu where fault does not occur;
    a communistic society neither greed nor indolence infests;
    a community refusing to judge individuals by complexion or complexity.

Utopia
    may exist for cats, perhaps, but
    not
    for me.