arlin arlingtongton theconnection.media.clients.ellingtoncms.com/news/...dec 22, 2016 · 4...

Arlington Connection ❖ Children’s Connection ❖ 2016 - 2017 ❖ 1www.ConnectionNewspapers.comonline at www.connectionnewspapers.comDecember 28, 2016 - January 3, 2017

ChildrenChildren’s Connection 2016s Connection 2016Children’s Connection 2016

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TheThe

Ellie Price, 5th grade,Unusual Proportion Crayons,Nottingham Elementary School.

Ellie Price, 5th grade,Unusual Proportion Crayons,Nottingham Elementary School.

2 ❖ Arlington Connection ❖ Children’s Connection ❖ 2016 - 2017 www.ConnectionNewspapers.com

NEW FALLS CHURCH LOCATIONCALL NOW FOR APPOINTMENTS Ophthalmologist

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Long Branch Elementary

Hannah Nilame, 3rd grade

Glorria Fosso Tchana, 5th grade

Brayan Perez Camacho, kindergarten Eyuel Berhanu, 5th grade

Mara Enkhbat, 3rd grade Anthony Guzman Iraheta, pre-kindergarten Johnny Vance, 3rd grade

ChloeMcCann,5th grade

Lila Derr,5th grade

CharlotteThomas,5th grade

Arlington Connection ❖ Children’s Connection ❖ 2016 - 2017 ❖ 3www.ConnectionNewspapers.com

The ArlingtonChildren’s Connection

is published by

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Dear Readers:This week, the Arlington Connection

turns over its pages to the youth and stu-dents.

We asked principals and teachers fromarea schools to encourage students tocontribute their words, pictures and pho-tos for our annual Children’s Issue.

The response as always was enormous.While we were unable to publish everypiece we received, we did our best to puttogether a paper with a fair sampling ofthe submitted stories, poems, drawings,paintings, photographs and other worksof art. Because of the response, we will

continue to publish more artwork and writ-ings throughout January.

We appreciate the extra effort made byschool staff to gather the materials duringtheir busy time leading up to the holidays.We’d also like to encourage both schools andparents to mark their 2017 calendars forearly December, the deadline for submis-sions for next year’s Children’s Connection.Please keep us in mind as your childrencontinue to create spectacular works of artand inspiring pieces of writing in the com-ing year.

The children’s issue is only a part of ouryear-round commitment to cover education

and our local schools. As always, theConnection welcomes letters to the edi-tor, story ideas, calendar listings and no-tices of local events from our readers.Photos and other submissions about spe-cial events at schools are especially wel-come for our weekly schools pages.

Our preferred method for material ise-mail, which should be sent [email protected],but you can reach us by mail at 1606King St., Alexandria, VA 22314 or call703-778-9415 with any questions.

— Editor Steven Mauren

Welcome

Nottingham Elementary

Abby Free-man, 3rd

grade,Landscape

AnnaLabovskaya,3rd grade,Landscape

Duc Phi, 1st grade, Fall Tree Michael Chistolini, Kindergarten,Stained Glass Window

Lily Seymour, 1st grade, Fall Tree

Ajay Allman, 4th grade,Self-Portrait

Isabella Griffin, 2nd grade,Cat

Jack Keffer, 2nd grade, Cat

Lola Gomez, 4th grade,Self-Portrait

Sophie Neumann, 5thgrade, Unusual ProportionCrayons

Anthony Mina, Kindergarten,Stained Glass Window


Carlin Springs Elementary

Franklin Ramirez Medrano, Kindergarten

Juan DiegoBecerra-

Centeno, grade4 — Starry

Night (MixedMedia)

Melanie Alvarez, grade 4— Sunflower (Collage)

Sara Berhane, grade 3— Leaves (Mixed Media)

Rebecca Tekle, grade 5— Silhouette (Collage)

Jonathan Lewis, grade 3— Bearden (Collage)

Rossybelle Cordova Jaldin,Kindergarten

Nancy Salome Cipriano, grade 1 — Landscape(Liquid Watercolor)

Elizabeth Escobar Nina, Montessori— Broadway Boogie Woogie (Mixed Media)

Donald Sagardia Dominguez, grade 1— Landscape (Liquid Watercolor)

Ashlee Cruz Castillo,grade 4 — Crows overthe Wheat Field (MetalRepousse’)


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Carlin Springs Elementary

AvielaGaitan,

1stgrade


Kenmore Middle School

See Kenmore, Page 7

The Goddess ofOur Solar System

In the deep, dark abyss that is outer space, a staris born. Not just any star, our sun. It shines brightfor billions of years and planets gravitate towardsit. It’s bright, warming, and seeing its breathtakingbeauty bring smiles to our faces. Its captivatinglight pulls us in and hugs us. Its welcoming warmthkisses our skin. Staring at it blinds us and some-times the burning heat can bite us. Without it we’dbe lost in the darkness with no way out. I am thesun always shining brightly and beautifully. Thegoddess of our solar system.

I shine bright without trying and and peopleseem to take a liking towards me. I’m a hot ball offire that will burn so you can’t get close. Somepeople say I’m mean but really I’m just distant. Imay be far out but without a doubt people noticeme. I’m majestic and royal like the Egyptian SunGod, Ra. I may act superior but really I’m not muchdifferent than anyone else. My warmth motivatespeople which is why I seem to be a natural-bornleader.

I burn in the summer, feeling bright as ever. Thepower I feel is overwhelming. In the winter thebrightness I have seemed to diminish. The burningdwindles. My heart has a burning rage to it thatruns and never settles. My soul is a fiery inferno. Iam the goddess of our solar system. The sun burnsincessantly in me.

— Ra’Nya Taylor, grade 8

Hidden JoyWith a yellow that rivals the brightness of the

sun, it is the little face of joy in a meadow of shal-low beauty. Not the showy rose with thorns just outof sight, waiting to pierce an unsuspecting person,but an honest, imperfect bloom. The blinding smileis hidden just beneath the surface, shining lightonto the others around it. Carefully transplanted,this flower will wilt, turn its face to the shadowsand memories of home, then bloom again moreglorious than ever, with its face to the sun. I am notthe lilac, intoxicating people with its fragrant blos-soms. I am a dandelion.

Just as I am a plain old flower to those who donot give more than a glance, people are more thanwhat they seem. Though I am a flower at heart,sometimes the part of me that is a weed pokes itshead through my petals of grins and jokes. Theflower loses its luster for a moment, hitting a sis-ter or hurling a rude comment. “I’m so sorry!” Istammer sincerely. But the weed bides its time andknows exactly when to come out of its dormantstate. It knows where it hurts most for those peoplethe flower keeps close to her heart.

Once she is firmly planted in her new home, withher tendrils of roots growing by the day, this bloomwill send seeds of influence, thought, and laugh-ter floating on the whispering breeze into thehearts of the other people around her. The blossomwill always be trying to conquer the meadow thatis her life and the people in it. I am a dandelion,always wrestling and trying to pull out the weedthat is so much, but at the same time, not a part ofme.

— Regan Christensen, grade 8

In PlaceI am the ground littered with bright, green

leaves. I surround an area I call my own with long,outstretched arms keeping it dark and safe. Thereare so many things to reveal, yet so little time toshow what lies beneath. My dark olive ceiling, withspeckled sunlight breaking through, reveals a sap-ling, brimming with the anticipation of youngclimbers. I am a forest.

Inside malicious echoes of thoughts resound,bouncing from branch to branch; small crittersquiver in the hollow trunks. The constant, gentlewinds rustle the leaves to reassure the creaturesthat the grey clouds won’t bring too much of aflood. Crooked trees stand their ground, their cold,winding roots anchor together what they callhome. The cold streams flicker with life, lapping atthe banks. Though I’m quiet and patient like a fox,my voice reverberates through the forest like thechirping of a cricket.

My walls tower like skyscrapers with broad,tough bark that act as barriers to shield any threatto my well-being. Some manage to find a weak spot

in my barricade, so they wander in. Instead of ob-structing any sunshine through my leaves, drivingthem away, I offer them my scarlet berries andcomforting shade from my tall trees. I gift themwith my tranquility. But there’s always that dis-tressing noise, like a deadly buzzsaw, making itselfwanting to be known. Along with the morphing,omnipresent thoughts, one grasps my attention: Nomatter how gentle the leaves rustle, it cannot brushthat voice away. It’s simple for them to light onematch and burn everything you love. Sometimeswe’re all terrified of change; we stay in place be-cause we don’t want to lose our lives. We’ll learnto forge our own paths, down in the forest.

— Brianna Guerra, grade 8

The Celestial StarI am the rift that cracks the light into the sky. I

am the father that tells the Man In the Moon “it’stime for him to go to bed.” And I am the pitcherthat pours yellow drops of sunlight onto the sur-face of the Earth. I am the knitter of light that spinsa ball of sun and sends its rays of sunny yarnthroughout the world for all to see. My presencereveals an illuminating star that scintillates ourworld. I am the Sunrise.

I am the harbinger of a new day.I am the guardian that watches over the vast

horizon. I am a light that illuminates the moon withlight. I am the fellow star that tells constellationsto reveal themselves to man. I am the knowledgethat determines the birth signs of all. I am the el-der that has lived forever. I am thegreat-grandfather who’s 4.5 billion years old. YetI am a mortal star destined to die in 5 billion years.But for now I am the seraphim’s orb who bringsGod’s light onto Earth. I am the sun.

I am a celestial star that enters the sky in themorning. I am an emitter of light whose rays loveto dance on the white, fluffy clouds. “I love watch-ing the sunrise illuminate the clouds in the sky,” Itell my parents. I am a weaver who knits the cloudstogether. I am a source that man uses for energy. Iam the light who goes away during winter and therain. I am a ball of plasma that helps to pass thecycle of seasons. I am the warmth that all will soonenjoy. And I am the hearth whose fire all of human-ity seeks. Greetings. I am the Sunrise

— Mac Nowalk, grade 8

ComprehensiveThe time has come for the photo to be revamped.

Fingers moving, typing faster than life, my screenblares with tools. The cut tool is used to splice ev-ery even slice of the photo with the sound of clicks... The stylus is moving and erasing the undos andredos of my multiple mistakes ... The lighting of theperfect zones and the shadows of the unseen pic-ture ... typing of the board and sliding of thetrustful mouse who has both been with me for thedecades. The layers of artificial color covers myscreen with unknown purposes alone. Finally thephoto is done. Now comes the final task before itgoes on its way ... the pushing of buttons make thesound of the whirling jets and the silent sound ofthe ink splatter over the canvas. Now the rush ofcompletion runs through me. I’m that editor whotook photos in the cold breeze mountains. I’m theeditor who learns through the sounds of nature.The editor who learned through the multiple lay-ers of life.

The world doesn’t always recognizes my labor.Without me, it’s like a cake without icing. I’m theentire project: I’m the cover, l’m the body, and I’mthe pages. Behind the scenes less attention helpsyou focus on what really matters.

My skills are the knife of the chef, the board ofa cook and the axe of a lumberjack. Inside my toolbox are the essentials required for perfected prod-uct. I can deploy them across many media in anyfield. I’m as sharp as a machete, as precise as asurgeon, and as skilled as a civil engineer. Hailartist, I am the editor.

— Qide Baa, grade 8

Unfelled TreeIn the middle of the field stands a magnificent

tree with arms outstretched.As lonely as he seems, he has been around longer

than any other creature in the wooded area. Hewho holds these individual branches holds what Ihave felt and known and cared for in my short life

Chiarra Wilson Regan Christensen

Tim Naff

Lillian Watson

Ash McMahon

Brianna Guerra... He seems to hold the keys of time ...His statureis mighty, his roots run deep into the ground, andhis bark is withered like an ancient man who hasexperienced etemity. The fruits of this body havebeen dropped for myriad animals who feast and arespawned as tiny seedlings, little kids, around myperimeter. Birds have been born in the lengths ofmy branches. In my lifetime my bark purified moregasses for the people for whom I give life. Insectshave been nurtured by my bark and given a haven.As strong and as mighty in stature and in nature, Iam an oak tree.

I am tall and far reaching, I provide protectionfor my brothers and parents. My hard work haspaid off in the time I am alive. The sun is harsh andburning rays are blocked by my branches and

leaves. I am always tending those under my pow-

erful arms. I put my brother to bed and as tired asI am, I do it for the love of my brother. I am like afather when my dad can’t be there. I pour milk andmake supper when he asks. I do everybody’s laun-dry and throw out the trash. I provide the strength,never worry, I have strong roots to provide theneeded strength.

These traits help me in life because it shows areliable entity who is hardworking, and also has thestamina to handle pressure. Even though I gettired, I am a dedicated soul who quietly towersabove the fray.

— Alejandro Ortiz, Grade 8



From Page 6

See Kenmore, Page 8

A Dance DestroyingThe Darkness

Burning from the pits of the Under-world, yet a gift of the Gods themselves,I swirl around the darkness, destroyingit with my piercing stare. When it admitsdefeat, I die down once again, lettingthe glow of my embers soothe thepeople into a sleepy lull of calm. Some-times, I am a harsh reality that burns thefantasies out of your skull. I’m not al-ways there, but when I am, be wary; Iam both and friend and a foe. I am fire.

My silence is a warning of loomingdark times. An obtrusive hand will beinjured by my plain, heated hate, but agentle one will be welcomed into mywarm embrace. Sometimes, I amspread far and wide by the gusts of achilling windstorm. I remember when Iwas but a spark, I needed constant stok-ing: “You can do it. Build your owndreams, and make them come true,” myelders would say. A spark was nurturedinto a burgeoning fire; a raging, twist-ing flame of excitement.

Flames like my own are ignited often,but most burn out before they can be-come crackling bonfires that light up thedark. Every lick could be the last flare.I can never know when the windstormwill put me out instead of spreading mywildfire; I can never know when a sud-den rain will reduce me to a smolderingmess. I try to fuel my flames for as longas I can, but eventually, there will be alimit. One day, I’ll be pushed past thelimit; one day, the flame will go out for-ever, leaving only glowing goldenembers as memories of a simple legacywhose intensity illuminated its world.

— Sophia McMahan,

grade 8

Driven ForceMy thoughts move with such velocity

that spectators only see blurred lightswhere they used to be, like a car accel-erating at unimaginable speeds. It’s loudand bright in my mind; each synapse apowerfully-lit street that, in early hours,is far from abandoned. I am a clutter ofdreams, living in both the smallest cor-ners of my mind and the larger, moreprominent areas. I am angry and busy.I am New York City.

My anger is a taxi’s honk: abrupt. I ama motivated person, and like a NewYorker, I get annoyed when people arein my way. For example, last year, I haddifficulties with my group in a project.An internal clock counts down, and once

my patience is tried, I explode: “You willnot be the reason I fail!” I yell, standingto enforce that I mean business. Finallywe finish, but much like angry, abruptNew Yorkers, I don’t win any popular-ity points. And just like those NewYorkers, I don’t care. My temper is quickand direct, and sometimes spontaneous,cutting through my seemingly happyand calm demeanor. Inside me there isa drive that will claw through anythingto get what it wants.

Just as New York is the city that neversleeps, I never stop planning. Mythoughts are loud enough to consumeme, like New York, from the roars ofstrong opinions to the blast of an idea.When I believe my brain has finally rundry, it ignites again with questions oranswers. I talk endlessly about ideas orprojects, and just as the excitement inNYC never ends, neither does my con-stant flow of thoughts. I am New York,a passionate, driven force filled withhope, dreams, and really loud noises.— Julia Van Lare, grade 8

UnusualAtmosphere

I breeze past everyone quietly, with-out them even noticing. I calm people,filling them with thoughts of laughterand happiness. However, some days Ican be the opposite, leaving peopledown; howling up a storm of thoughtsthey wished to leave behind. I can alsobe fierce if I need to; a strong gust ofwind meant to knock anyone off theirfeet and send them flying. I am under-stood as many entities, but mostly I am

Quynh Tran

a calm, laughter-spreading feeling thatcirculates through the school and myworld. I am the wind.

As my parents know, I have overcomemany obstacles before, pushing harderand harder against such barriers, untilthey come down. I have gone throughthe easiest of times, which breeze by,and the hardest of conflicts, which standstrong and

tough and wired to keep me from mygoals. “You know,” my friends sharewith me, “you seem to be that one per-son who tries to make everyone laugh,and if you can’t, you don’t care; you justkeep on trying until you can make every-one else happy.” Just like the breezetrying to push and squirm through theholes in an old, red brick wall, I try toshare my cheerfulness with anyone, nomatter how I’m thought of.

Nowadays, I still float around, butmore conscious of how I flow than be-fore. Sometimes, the wind can bepleasing, but can be irritating at timeswhen it blows too hard or too sporadi-cally. I can easily find myself inawkward situations, going where Ishouldn’t go with people, like when thewind convinces you to go inside to avoidit. I have to avoid these situations as Izoom around the school, trying to sharethe joyfulness I have with everyone.

— Benjamin Jacobs,

grade 8

The DrifterI am the mystery figure you never get

to know. I am the seeker looking for

Writing



From Page 7

See Kenmore, Page 9

Writing

adventure, never settled on one thing. I driftaround for a purpose to fulfil. My feet like foxes,scampering around as they please, hopping trainsand running miles. I’m often restless because of mymany travels and journeys but still, I venture on.My head a vortex, spinning and swirling rapidly. Iam the wanderer.

Like the wind I am never in one single place. Myarms are like a cold breeze and my legs like a thun-der storm. My words can be soft like the fallingleaves or as treacherous as a sandstorm. I often getlost in the path of life, searching for meaning onit. I’m too close to those I’m close to and not closeenough to the ones I’m not. Attachment to me is afire that can not be ignited. The unlit fire does nothave enough time to spark into something amaz-ing. This blaze will never ignite and will forever lostin my collection of unlit fires.

Like the red moon, my stillness is rare. Evenwhen I try to stay in one place, I can’t help but crashdown hill like an avalanche. There are times whenthere is nothing to seek, but in those times I alwaysfind something to go after. “Never let others decideyour path,” my father often tells me. I’ve realizedafter a while that there will always be another se-cret to uncover our another mountain to climb.Always a new journey to embark on. I have cometo terms with what I am. Never still, always for-ward ... the Wanderer.

— Carson Ruth, grade 8

GracefulIn the early morning, the deer dances across the

forest floor. It is a young deer, a fawn. As a songbird whistles, the fawn freezes. If you are watch-ing it you see how lovely and graceful the tinycreature is. It hears a crack in nearby brush andgracefully bounds away. Its long legs disappear onits last “grand jete” into the coming dawn. Sheleaves traces of ballet steps and wide, wonderingeyes in my mind. I am a fawn.

Sometimes I get shy when I am around people Idon’t know. Most times I would much rather beoutside or dancing. A fawn is a very elegant ani-mal, jumping fences and running. Many people tellme, “Oh, Emma; you are really graceful.” It is be-cause I dance. Running is also something we havein common. The fawn’s long ears are very sensitiveand can hear the most slightest sounds. They hearthe thumping of people’s feet far away and the nearsounds of berries being dropped.

I am a fawn. I don’t leap and twirl down the hall.Fawns are careful animals. They don’t like a lot ofattention. Quietly darting from human view, weoccasionally see some friends and quietly walk withthem. At a young age fawns are playful and perky.As they get older it will get more mature. They havemore responsibility and thoughtfulness. They losesome of the silliness. They still leaping over streamsand racing friends but fawns also turn into deer.But you are still graceful for the rest of your life. Iam a fawn.

— Emma Weaver, grade 8

BricloeurThirsty for knowledge, I eagerly absorb the

quips, sound bites, and musings of these inspiringand talented YouTubers. I process the information,learn from it, and teach it. This cycle — the ebb andflow of data — quenches my thirst. Homemadeprops: wagons, wigs and wilderness; my imagina-tion teleports me through time. I capture it all onvideo. Screens, colored lights ... I connect with oldfriends on a virtual battlefield. Pass on the diago-nal — the queen moves in for the kill. Dodgingdefenders, I set up the shot. The knight evadescapture. The soccer field is a chess board. Shoot,score, checkmate! I am green but my interests andambitions are many. I am a Renaissance Man.

I pioneer new ideas. I pencil tap and beat box. Icook, play soccer, basketball, football, and chess.Video games, board games, HGTV, Dr. Pol, Dr. K,political debates-!like them all. A single day in thisRenaissance Man’s life is full of fun, challenge, anddiscover. One Texas winter day, my friends and Iwere on the trampoline. Mid-jump, I noticed some-thing flopping around on the ground. A babyblackbird was distressed under the leaves. We took

GabiJuarez

Shushantika Barua

Nolan Fuss

HairmonSolomon

Belen Tesfaye

MilesJordan



See Kenmore, Page 13

From Page 8

Writing

him in, cared for him, and perched him on the Xbox. Westudied him, researched him, then set him free. His name wasColton. To this day, he is one of my many spirit animals.

I am never bored. Opportunities to engage the world areeverywhere. The internet is my portal; the camera lens bothcaptures and fuels my appetite for information. I don’t wastea minute. (I may not always do what I am supposed to do,but my mind is always on.) Lights, camera, action: Think,react, build, create. I am a Renaissance Man, always creatingand in motion.

— Kendall Hartman, grade 8

Wilber ZelayaMalka Khan

A Floating BloomThe delicate lily bud rests upon the tender green plate. It

floats atop the water with exquisite beauty, looking as if thegentle, lapping ripples could knock it over. But, the lily ishardier than you would think. The water lily withstands the

daily traffic of frogs hopping about the pond, dragonflies thatland on its pad, and water moccasins that streak through thepond. The lily takes the stamping in stride. Like a water lily,I deal with the toughness of life everyday, but take it in stride.I am a water lily.

When something new comes up, like a new leaf shootingout of the water to sunlight, I accept it like a lily pad acceptsa new leaf in its vascular bundles. When I was little, my par-ents told me I was going to be an older sister. “Really?” Iexclaimed, “Can I play with her?” I asked excitedly. I wel-comed the newest member of our family with amity.

As a person, I want to make the world a better place. Awater lily contributes to its environment by proving shade toall of the underwater organisms and a landing pad on top ofthe water and all manner of pond life. I wish to make sure allwalks of life have a safe refuge when they need one. Wavesand tides can influence where I go, but my rhizomes groundme. I am a water lily.

— Lily Watson, grade 8

10 ❖ Arlington Connection ❖ Children’s Connection ❖ 2016 - 2017 Arlington Connection ❖ Children’s Connection ❖ 2016 - 2017 ❖ 11www.ConnectionNewspapers.com www.ConnectionNewspapers.com

Elizabeth Powers, 10th grade — Monarch

Yorktown High School

Kelly Kilby, 12th grade — The Drop

Adam Attallah, 12th grade

Beyla Richman, 10th grade — Floating Along

Elizabeth Kelafant, 12th grade — Book Worm

Carson Wood, 11th grade

Nadya Syazsa, 11th grade

Austen Mulieri, 11th grade

SloaneGartner,12thgrade

Ethan McKelvain

Joseph Myers, 11th grade — Neapolitan

Jack Durham, 11th grade

BryannaLansing,

12th grade— Kite

Annmarie Earley, 10th grade — Summer at theSmithsonian Zoo

Adam Attallah, 12th grade



TammyTrinh,Ceramics 3,grade 12

Sydney Nassetta, AP Ceramics, grade 12Bilguun-Erdene Mendsaikhan, Ceramics 3,grade 12

Caris Weilenmann, Ceramics 2, grade 11

GeorgieGreenhaus,AP Ceram-ics, grade12

MarkLove, AP

Ceramics,grade 12

LauraCrawford,

AP Ce-ramics,

grade 12


Now EnrollingNEW REHEARSAL LOCATION IN

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Church of St. Clement 1701 N. Quaker Ln

If you love singing andmaking new friends

Call to schedule an audition now!

childrenschorus.com 202-237-1005Check out our programs:

join the premier youth choralprogram in the DC area

Kenmore

From Page 9

The Bronze GiantA forgotten giant rests in the sea, cov-

ered in bronze, shaken down from theupset of power. What once used to be areminder of power, the thousand-footgiant loomed above the world. Thou-sands of shattered pieces slumber in thedown in the watery depths. What onceused to be a sheen warm glow emanat-ing from the metallic bronze now an icycold glare from each broken piece. Thewhole world was below him, shipssailed under his colossal legs, he waspower. I am the Colossus of Rhodes.

What was a once great giant is nowburied thousands of feet under the Earthadds to the rocky bottom. The massivefigure in the sea shows a chilling after-image of the human race. Fish nowswim through the rough metalsmoothed down by bone-crushing cur-rents. This forgone hero is now an icyshape indescribable from a commonrock, waiting for rescue. Slimy algae andrough oysters infused on the giant; theycling to the power it once held. The gi-ant may have fallen but his greatnesswill never entirely erode and, one day itwill ascend again.

The colossus is just a symbol ofpower, truly making people think he isa god. Now, as I sit at a desk, I wonderif I will ever obtain power like that.Thousands of feet above the world, nohuman could ever bring him down. Butwith that, the Earth shook and roughplates collide and danced together, cre-ating destruction in their wake. Andwith that the Colossus fell, only for it toget back up again. And it will continuegetting back up every morning to ascendhigher than the day before.

— Quinn Schroeder,

grade 8

ShroudedEvery problem that I’m going through

bends my mind, casting a shadow totorture me. Letting go of problems andto surrender completely to our inner-most selves and to gain a deeperunderstanding of our subconscious isnot easy in the life of a teenaged girl.Unexpected things happen, falling all atonce like rocks falling down a mountain.We all have realize the possibility mis-fortune and the cruel slings ofunexpected tragedy. We should be pre-pared, and we have to be flexible. I havesuffered and continue to experience thepain of almost unspeakable sadness. Iam a weeping willow watching over theriver, all alone.

Life hits hard, like a comet comingdown from space. Wind blows so slowsometimes you can’t even feel it, liketime passing by. My dad left me all alonenext to a river, and I don’t where to lookor go. Not knowing why he left this bigworld, haunts me. Memories return likea boomerang. Leaving me was hischoice; he made a mistake.

People leave, nobody sticks by whenyou need them. Sometimes I feel like Idon’t belong in this world, that Ishouldn’t exist anymore, I should beextinct like a dinosaur. I’m all alone likea weeping willow, people surround me,but they are invisible to me. I don’twanna be here anymore, there’s toomany things going on, that I would justwant to crush like crushing leaving fromthe ground. Anxiety isn’t simple; myanxiety has anxieties. Anxiety alsofreezes everything. Depression leads tofake smiling, laughing, and saying “I’mfine.” all the time, and I’m not. A weep-ing willow’s silence is just another wayto show pain. I’m a weeping willow.

— Dalila Martinez,

grade 8



Parker Christian, 12th grade — Light Me Up

Carson Wood, 11th grade

Lily Corey, 11th grade

Elizabeth Kelafant, 12th grade — Sinking

Guyen Enkh, 10th grade


To highlight your Faith Community, call Karen at 703-778-9422

DAILY EUCHARIST:WeekdaysMonday-Friday, 8:30 AMSaturday, 8:30 AM

SUNDAY LITURGY SCHEDULE:Saturday Vigil: 5:30 PMSunday: 7:30, 9:00, and 11:00 AM1:30 PM Spanish Liturgy

5312 North 10th Street,Arlington, Virginia 22205Parish Office: 703-528-6276

PARISH WEBSITE:www.stannchurch.org

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Noisy GiantsIn the nightI hear a barkI see the rainPouring downI see a rapid flashI hear a rattleDuring the stormy night

When the nightRages with angerStomping with giantsCreate the thunderMillions of their torchesShineDuring the stormy night

When the nightRages with angerRaindrops splatterLike a potFilled with waterWind destructsThe innocent treesDuring the stormy night

— Tamsin Crook,

3rd

Grade

The Night SkyStarsHot, roundShining, glowing, spinningThere are billions of starsSpace

— Gavin Goldstein,

2nd

Grade

Nature’s ParadeNature’s patterns are like a piece of artThe autumn leaves sing with the breezeThe brushing leaves are the maraccasThe grass, the strings of the violinsCreate an orchestra of peaceful musicThe forest trees, sopranos, altos, formthe operaThe rain, the tap dancers’ paradeThunder claps like cymbals from agiant’s handsMonarch butterfly wings whistle likeflutesThe life cycle of the orchestra

— Anahit Harutyunyan,

3rd

Grade

A Snowy SeasonWinterSnow blanketFreezing, soft pilesCold, windy, happy, joyousWhite

— Charlotte Reynolds,

1st Grade

Haunting ShadowsA reaching hand out of the shadowsBrings you back inTo memories you tried to forgetAnd to reality.You face the hard concrete groundIn the shadows, knowing, just knowing,somehowThat you will never, ever be unscarredYou will never see the world as you oncedidWith those eyesNow struck with the sightsOf hardshipOf povertyAnd of loss and death.They change something in you that youdidn’t knowEven so, you try to block them outBut they will always be your hauntingshadowsAnd you will have them forever

— Allison Joe, 6th

Grade

Swaying TreesHow the branchesDim the sunlightOf a million starsThe swaying treesTickle my feetTheir branches,Like a fountainDroopy, hangingFeeling shame,Quite sadBut not exactly

— Sydney Le, 3rd

Grade

Feelings AreThe FrostingYou get angryFierce fire shooting flamesFeels like the incense you left burningDry ice letting out smokeA sharp jagged table cornerDisgusting sour syrup

That is all okay

You can be sadNo one should be staringThe peppery bite of the sunIs let out on your neckFluffy snow in your snow pantsGiving you a chill

That is all okay

You can be happyA nice, gentle, bright smileFlowers bloomingOn an orange yellow dayYou feel happy and that is okay

— Lailah Abdul Khaaliq,

3rd

Grade

Pitch As CoalA dark heart that has turned into pitchcoalLife is lost, hope is lost tooPitch black is a boxSharp stings of knivesPricking fleshTime is drearyA crow’s eye, the dead lineComes at onceLike when a tsunami crashes over a cityIt is a skin of hopeBroken in twoDeath is the sting of a king cobra’s poi-sonIt is the ticking of a stopwatchHades himself in disguiseThere is a small bit of hope in deathYes, leaping forward to a new beginningIt is time to set your new wings to thesky and say,“I believeIn hope.”

— Nasim Abdul Khaaliq,

4th

Grade

WonderIt used to be saidThat often in errorBut never in doubtNow their doubts have grownThey have grown as big as all outdoorsBorn as a bubble of spaceYoung light is releasedGlowing sheets and tendrilsYet nobody knowsNobody knows

— Sophia Guralnik,

4th

Grade

Two Types of PlanesOf roars and whistlesOr feather-like bristlesWe all would choose the new

Enchanting melodyOr ghost-like cacophonyOur past models are no longer valid

For business and Human’s transporta-tionOr rhythmic sensationWe forget about the past

The types of planes that scrape the skiesOr the gentle Cardinal with immenseblack eyesSweet soft chirps that fill your earsClanging thunder is what he hears

He created two types of PlanesThe straight-path crashersAnd the fluttering beauties standing thetest of timeWe all would choose the new

— Liam Machabee,

7th

Grade

Westminster School



Elizabeth Noe — Cosmic Revival

Julia Sachs, 12th grade

Lana Schlesinger, 12th grade

Sofia Scott, 12th grade Alexander Ahn, 12th grade

EmmaPivetta,12thgrade

Jake Gonzalez, 12th grade

Rachel Jacobson, 12th grade

CooperMoss,12th

grade

Will Clough, 10th grade — Williamsburg Leo Club. TheLeo’s were making cards to send to their friends in thisrandom act of kindness.


whereseniors ages62 and better

enjoyrewardinglifestyles inthe heart

of Alexandria

Burgundy Farm Country Day School

Mariana Garcia-Acosta, Kindergarten

Charlotte Evans, grade 6Sebastian Linscott, Kindergarten


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ABC LICENSEThai Boys Inc. trading as Tom Yum Thai, 226 Maple Ave. W, Vienna, VA 22180. The above establishment is applying to

the VIRGINIA DEPARTMENT OF ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE CONTROL (ABC) for a Wine and Beer On Premises and

Mixed BeverageRestaurant license to sell or

manufacture alcoholic beverages. Tanitta

Diewtragulchai, PresidentNOTE: Objections to the issu-ance of this license must be

submitted to ABC no later than 30 days from the publishing

date of the first of two required newspaper legal notices.

Objections should be regis-tered at www.abc.virginia.gov

or 800-552-3200.

Kenny Lourie is an Advertising Representative forThe Potomac Almanac & The Connection Newspapers.

By KENNETH B. LOURIE

Seldom WrongBut This TimeI’m Write

Because of the change in some of ourpublication deadlines for December, I havehad to write multiple columns weeks inadvance, somewhat unusual for me.Typically, I write my column five days beforepublication, so time-wise, I’m fairly currentand emotionally present as well. Writingahead, as December dead-lines (it’s nothingnew. I’ve been managing to accommodatethese deadlines for years) is still a bit off-put-ting. Though I want to think ahead and livelike I have a future; as a cancer patient, it’sdifficult not to live in the present. Thinking,feeling, projecting ahead, seems presumptu-ous almost.

This is not to imply that I have to some-how presume a future and write about can-cer subjects — or not, which have not yethappened. Hardly. My columns are rarelytime-sensitive or date-specific. Still, my col-umns are generally better written when I’mwriting from current feelings, facts, circum-stances, etc. And though many of the feel-ings, facts and circumstances relating to mycondition don’t exactly change on a daily,weekly or even monthly basis (thank God!),surprisingly, my reaction to them sometimesdoes. Moreover, writing multiple columns atone time also forces me to pile onto myselfemotionally the effects of my disease. Which,if you must know, I’d rather not do. In fact, ifthere’s any way I can not think about mysituation, that’s a ‘way’ I’d like to be.

Not that I moan and groan or woe is meabout my age 54-and-half-terminal-diagno-sis, as those who know me or have regularlyread my columns likewise know; but some-times I’d prefer not to have my hand forced.And even though reading or hearing aboutother people who have been diagnosed withlung cancer, or who have succumbed to itsravages, doesn’t bother me — too much,really (I’ve matured); occasionally, I’d ratherbe blissfully ignorant.

Although I readily admit that being igno-rant too long concerning my disease is hardlypenny-wise but it is most definitely pound-foolish. The trick is, somehow not gettingconsumed by one’s circumstances and main-taining an optimistic point of view. And sinceI’m a funny guy (though not really fun), I amable to humor myself — and others, so theseless-than-ideal circumstances under which Iattempt to thrive are not overwhelming,except when forced to confront my demonsand focus on myself when newspaper dead-lines are advanced and jumbled and I’m hav-ing to write four columns in two weeksinstead of writing one column in one week.

Though it’s not exactly trouble, it is toquote Jerry Seinfeld from a long-ago Seinfeldepisode, “something.” ‘Something’ I couldlikely live without, but ‘something’ unfortu-nately I must live with, every December. ButI’m a “big boy,” as my father used to tell me,with “broad shoulders” (figuratively speakingto my ability to handle the load), so I’ll man-age. In fact, in another paragraph, I will havecompleted the task and the presumptiveweight of it will be off my ‘broad shoulders.’

Now I can relax a little bit, exactly whatone (especially this one with cancer) needs.Between the holidays and advanced dead-lines, the column-writing and the ad-selling;I’m living and learning with my ever-evolvingcircumstances (further from the beginning orcloser to the end; I never know).

Nevertheless, I am extremely happy tohave been there and finished doing it yetagain. I hope to see you all back here nextyear. Happy Holidays!

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Pinero


Johnson, Richard Lee, 88, of Radnor,PA, formerly of Vienna, VA. Beloved hus-band of Anne Chapman (nee Hungerford)Johnson, Father of Anne Johnson Graf(Chappy) (Bayard H.) of Strafford, PA andJessie Edwards Johnson of PurceHville,VA. Also survived by five grandchildrenand his sister Lois Johnson Held ofMilwaukee, Wl. Funeral service will be atSt. John’s Episcopal Church, McLean, VAon Wednesday, December 28th at noon.In lieu of flowers contributions in hisname may be made to St. John’s ChurchMemorial Fund, St. John’s EpiscopalChurch, 671 5 Georgetown Pike,PostOffice Box 457, McLean, VA 221 01-0457.

OBITUARY


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If tomorrow were never tocome, it wouldnot be worthliving today.

-Dagobert Runes


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