sweet inspirations spring 2014

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- Oscar Wilde -

No great artist ever sees

things as they really are.

If he did, he would cease

to be an artist.

[ Foreword ]The Lauderdale County School System is pleased to share its inaugural publication of Sweet Inspirations, a literary magazine of original writing, artwork, and photography submitted by students in grades 7-12 in the Lauderdale County School System. The name Sweet Inspirations is taken from a title of a song written by Spooner Oldham, a Lauderdale County alumnus, and is a nod to our area, our talented residents, and our rich musical heritage. The magazine is a publication of the Secondary Curriculum Department.

[ Acknowledgements ]

Cover Photograph • by Tory Eaton

Layout and Design • by Kristin Garrett

Superintendent • Jennifer Gray

Secondary Curriculum Director • Pam Tanner

Publication Advisor • Lara Muck

Special thanks to Carol Pace, Jane Corl, Sheila Quillen, Cathy Smith, Mary Nicely, and Derek Daily for their role in making the dream for Sweet Inspirations a reality and for their role in making the magazine a success and to Lara Muck and her Advertising Design Class at ATCTC for taking on the project of the publication of Sweet Inspirations.

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[ Table of Contents ]

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FICTION • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • First Place -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Nena Thornton ....... LCHS .............. Lonely Spirit ........................... 6-8• Second Place ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ashley Kennemer .... Wilson ............ Lucas's Demons .................... 20-21• Third Place ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ashley Kennemer .... Wilson ............ Isn't This Paradox .................. 28-31• Honorbale Mention -------------------------------------------------------------------------- McKenzie Morrison.. LCHS ............. Gifted .................................. 38-41

NON-FICTION • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • First Place -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Abby Sims .............. Lexington ........ The Most Painful Experience ..14-17• Second Place ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ashley Peck ............ Rogers ........... High School Bullying ........... 22-24• Third Place ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Katelyn Mitchell ...... Central ........... Music ................................. 32-34

POETRY • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • First Place -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alex Williams .......... LCHS ............. Oh, Walls of Old .................... 11-13• Second Place ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hannah Sims ........... LCHS .............. Edgar Allan Poe ....................... 19• Third Place ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chance Gray ...........Lexington ......... The Librarian .......................... 35• Honorbale Mention -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Amanda Newton ..... ATCTC/Lexington .. Night ...................................... 43 Kaitlyn Frazier ........ Central ............ Old One ................................... 44 Reagan Creekmore .. Brooks ............ The Perfect Bride ................ 46-48 Savannah Owen ...... LCHS .............. Earth ..................................... 52 Anna Hunt .............. Lexington. ........ Colors .....................................54

[ Table of Contents ]

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ARTWORK • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • First Place ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Alex Blevins ........... ATCTC/Wilson .....Baby Girl with Rose ....................10• Second Place --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Victor Sarmiento ..... ATCTC/Brooks .....Moon on the Loose .................. 18• Third Place ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mason McGee ........ ATCTC/Brooks .... Pines ..................................... 27• Honorbale Mention ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Anthony Mena ........ Waterloo.......... Alabama Hills .......................... 6 Anna Hunt ............. Lexington ......... Holocaust 44 .......................... 17 Regan Creekmore ... Brooks ............ Heart of a Soldier ................... 20 Audrey Hill ............ Rogers ............ Gorilla ................................... 36 Caroline Graham .... Brooks ............ Elephant ................................ 36 Brianna Wolfgang ... ATCTC/Brooks .... Feelings of Fall ........................ 37 Kailey Grace Butler .. Rogers ........... Poppies in the Sun .................. 38

PHOTOGRAPHY • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • First Place -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tory Eaton ............... Wilson ............ Little Girl ..................... Cover / 9• Second Place ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Haley Crosby ........... Central ........... A Perfect Hideaway .................. 25• Third Place -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chloe Allen .............. Central ........... Hello Summer ..........................26• Honorbale Mention -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chris Hartzell ........... LCHS.............. The Lonely Broken Path........... 14 Gracie Knight ........... Lexington .........Unlucky ...................................... 22 Rachel Gray ............. Rogers ........... Walking Barefoot in Shoal Creek.. 24 Tory Eaton ............... Wilson ............ Flute Tunnel .......................... 28 Gracie Knight ........... Lexington ........ Snow Ball ............................... 37

All First Place, Second Place, Third Place, and Honorable Mention Selections Listed in Table of Contents.Additional Works of Art and Photography Selections within this publication are not listed individually.

Alone by the silent hollow the little girl

dragged her bag of treasures. Nobody ever

knew what was in that bag, not even her own

parents. They had never noticed any of her

toys missing as they were all in her toy closet

stacked as neatly as a seven-year-old could

manage. This little girl never had many friends

that she could get along with. All of those she

ever talked to for a long amount of time always

kept their distance. The little girl did not

dismay over this fact though, as she always

told her parents that she is her own friend and

that's the only one that she will ever need.

So alone she roamed without her parents

ever having any idea what she did every day

although this was her daily routine. She would

get up early in the morning and roam the woods

every day for two hours and be back before her

mom even woke up to get her ready for school.

Most of her time spent in the woods was not

roaming, but instead was sitting alone as if she

were talking to someone, but no one was ever there. Nevertheless, after

she got back home every day she went back to bed and took a few cat naps

whilewhile

Lonely Spirit • • • • • • by Nena Thornton • LCHS

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“Alabama Hills” by Anthony Mena

Waterloo•

Honorable MentionArtwork

First Place • Fiction

while waiting for her mother to wake her up for school. Her mother, as well as her father, had always thought of her as a normal little girl who went to school and returned safely every afternoon a few minutes after 3:00 PM. From then to her bedtime she would usually just play with her toys or watch one of the cartoon channels on television. The only thing that her mother thought was out of the ordinary was the fact that she had no friends.

One day Stella woke up, ready to do her daily roaming in the woods.

Darting out the door she hung the bag across her shoulder as if she were

homeless then disappeared into the dawn. Little did she know that today

would be different from all the others. As she roamed to her destination, she

gazed into the sky barely able to see the clouds due to the sun having yet to

rise above the horizon. She had always wondered where her life would take

her in the future, even though she was only in elementary school. Perhaps

that was why she didn’t have any friends, judging from the fact that she

was very mature for her age. No matter what she wondered about while

she was wandering, she knew without a doubt that the only friend she’d

ever need had her back every time she went wandering in the woods.

On the chilly autumn day when she arrived at her destination, she sat

down on the tree stump that had nearly faded to black due to its withering

away throughout the years. With her bag still over her shoulder, she let

down her hair and closed her eyes in relief as the wind danced through it.

She eventually rested the bag on the ground in front of her where she

Lonely Spirit • First Place Fiction • Nena Thornton

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could comfortably look through it. Sure enough after looking for quite some time, she finally found what she was looking for. She sat the urn in her lap and handled it carefully as she always did. A delightful smile appeared on her face as she clasped the handle and removed the lid composed of copper. For now she could talk to her friend inside and share her troubles from the day before. There were no ashes inside this urn as one would think; matter of fact there was nothing inside of it that the normal human eye could ever see. The only meaning that it had was the fact that it had been found in the ocean, empty. She had decided to keep it due to how beautiful it was, but one day she finally looked inside of it instead of just leaving the lid on. And at that moment she met her only friend. Stella had formed a very strong bond with this spirit that inhabited the urn. The spirit had understood her and helped her through everything ever since that day they had met. Today, she had something different to talk to her friend about. Stella had been having trouble at school with everyone around her, so she told her friend and asked her for helpful advice. Her friend wondered why she had told her this to only find out that it was so bad that she didn’t want to live her life anymore. As Stella and her friend talked this over, her friend had told her something that she didn’t know. Her friend inside the urn had told her for months the loneliness she experienced and how she wished that she could have someone to talk to for more than a couple of hours. Now that Stella had experienced the same loneliness as the spirit, they finally understood what was best for their relationship. On that day Stella joined her friend inside the urn and they lived happier than ever as they now had each other all the time. Stella’s parents were heartbroken for the rest of their lives not knowing what happened to Stella on that day. Stella, on the other hand, was the happiest little girl in the world inhabiting the urn for eternity with her best friend.

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Lonely Spirit • First Place Fiction • Nena Thornton

“Little Girl”by Tory Eaton

Wilson

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First Place • Photography

“Baby Girl With A Rose”by Alex Blevins

- Allen Thornton Career Technical Center / Wilson -

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First Place • Artwork

I.A stone wall of old

The darkness it repels, can it hold?The citizens depend upon it, soWhy does it grow with mold?

Oh walls, an unseen enemy, the most dangerous foeHas invaded in the snow.

Slowly the people have fallen asleepAnd the enemy will know.

Now they invade the keep;The City's plunder do they reap.

Oh, walls of old,Now, forever, the people sleep.

II.Tall stood the knight

Against the mighty, the mighty throng,To protect what is right

To protect the city's song.

Oh, walls of oldLook upon the last knight of the keep,

Protect him from eternal sleep,Overcome thy old, please be bold!

His sword, straight and true,Swings through and through,Not enough to save them all

But enough, maybe, to fulfill his call.

Oh, Walls of Oldby Alexander Michael Williams

LCHS

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First Place • Poetry

III.The traitor king looks on in dismay

Looking with sadness at the disarrayAnd decides to flee away

Into the light of another day.

Oh, walls of oldGrown sick with death and mold;

Bring justice to this anti-king, his heart-o-cold,For this kingdom, he, to darkness, sold.

An arrow, like a ray,Pierced through the iron's mold.

Dead the traitor king fell, and they sayForever he will be cold.

IV.Now the enemy light a blaze;

Houses, streets, and churches now a mazeOf fire, which consumes all.

From far away, the blaze is what others saw.

Oh, walls of oldGrown tired of death and cold.

Now the city that you once keepShall burn to sleep.

The people now flee the fire,Their city burning in the enemy's desire.

For now the city perishes twiceNow of fire, before that ice.

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Oh, Walls of Old • First Place Poetry • Alexander Michael Williamston

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V. Then with trumpets blaring

And with soldiers, an army so large,The people who remained, staring,

The True Prince and his army charge!

Oh, walls of oldHear the enemy flee while some people sing

To the Prince, "Be our Prince, your Father our King."But some just glare and stay, their heart turned cold.

For the Prince leaves with those who singAnd the enemy descends on those who stay.

Now, oh walls, those who stay burn in your ring,But those who sing leave into the light of a new day.

VI.Oh, a stone wall of old

The darkness overwhelmed, you could not hold.Now the people are gone away

And you decay away, so I'm told.

Oh wall, those who left now in light play,And sleep forever, those who did stay.

And now you crumble and away you fadeCrumbled down to your original clay.

Now you will return to which you were made.For those who remained, to rest they are laid.And those that left are behind walls of Gold.

This is the end of your song, now fade.

Oh, Walls of Old • First Place Poetry • Alexander Michael Williamston

The Most Painful Experience • • • • • by Abby Sims • Lexington There are countless hurtful experiences one may encounter in his or her life. Job loss, a close friend or relative moving away, and a serious relationship ending are all examples of hurt one may encounter. Although life seems to throw numerous wounding situations in an individual’s path, there is one type of hurt that surpasses all others. As seen in Tuesdays with Morrie and in my own experience, the death of a loved one takes a toll on an individual like nothing else can. While this seems to only be a circumstance that would tear one down, it can ultimately make one a better person due to the memory of the loved one and his or her influence on the individual’s life. When the term, “death of a loved one” is used, people generally associate it with the loss of a family member. Although this usually stands to be true, I believe a “loved one” can be anyone who has invested in one’s life and set an example for the individual to follow and perhaps model his or her life after –one whom an individual truly admires, looks up to, loves, and is close to. In my situation, it

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“The Lonely Broken Path”

•by Chris Hartzell

- LCHS -•

Honorable MentionPhotography

First Place • Non-Fiction

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was the death of a family member which came in the summer of 2012; I lost my great-grandmother, “Mamaw Sims,” as we all called her. In comparison, Mitch Albom, the author of Tuesdays with Morrie, lost his old professor, Morrie Schwartz, whom he deeply loved and seemingly viewed as a father-figure in his life. My loss brought a deep hurt that I had never felt before, as did Mitch’s. Many people do not even attempt to grow close to others for the fear of losing them, but it is in the bonding process where the unforgettable memories are made and precious invaluable time is spent. Throughout many of my childhood years, my great-grandparents were my next door neighbors, just up the hill, and I spent nearly every day, especially in the summer, with them. I loved being with both my great-grandfather, who is still living, and my great-grandmother, but I spent more time with her while he worked, so we had a closer bond. Looking back, it seems as if I only did the little things for her, the things no one else wanted to do. I have discovered, as did Mitch through Morrie’s wise teaching, that the little things are what really matter, and that those “little things” become the big things later on. I spent many days picking out a gown for her to wear, sitting in the floor in front of her recliner giving her a full manicure and pedicure, fixing a glass of ice for each of us to chew on— because it was our favorite— while we talked things over. I spent countless hours visiting her while she was in the hospital or rehabilitation unit following a surgery, fanning her when she was hot, massaging her medicine onto her neck where it hurt, walking up the road to carry her a sample of any type of cookie or cake I baked, sitting out on my great-grandparents’ deck or underneath their shade trees with her, helping her walk around the house, and honestly, anything she may have asked me to do. None of this was ever a burden to me; each thing I was able to do for her was one of the greatest joys I have ever felt. No one understands what I would give to have any of those opportunities just one more time. On Mitch’s final Tuesday with Morrie, they said goodbye. Goodbyes are truly one of the hardest parts of life. I believe this is so because no one likes to

The Most Painful Experience • First Place Non-Fiction • Abby Sims

let go and let change take place, and goodbyes signal that. As they are talking, Morrie is barely hanging on. Mitch says, “I don’t know how to say goodbye” (185). Morrie takes Mitch’s hand and places it on his chest saying, “This…is how we say goodbye” (185). I have definitely been there. Just as I was by her side in her lively days, I was there each night we got the call that it could be her last, from the one spent in the Intensive Care Unit to the one spent sitting on the end of her bed in her house the night she passed away. The night before her death was the last time she ever said my name and fully spoke to me. During the times when she was in and out of consciousness, I was often one of the only people she would wake up enough to talk to. On the night she died, after being there for her final breath and mourning with all my family around me, one of the hardest things I have ever watched was seeing the people load her lifeless body and pull out of the driveway. I will never forget those moments. She was the one person who believed in me, complimented me, and took my side more than anyone else. I could be so wrong in a situation, but mention it to her, and I was in the right every time. It was nice to have someone like that who heard my problems and always encouraged me. I know the love I had and still have for her was mutual. She could not stand the thoughts of anything happening to “her Abby”, as she called me. When I went out of the country to Argentina on a mission trip in the spring of 2012, she cried every day I was gone. She just worried about me and acted mad at my parents for letting me go. Ultimately, she was proud of me. She praised everything I did and saw the good and the beauty in me when no one else could. She believed in me in an unmistakable way. She was aware of my dream to become a nurse, and each time I would do anything to take care of her, she would say, “Well, I believe you’ll make a good nurse one day.” I will always be grateful to her for that and for all the encouragement she gave me. I can still hear her saying, “Don’t do that to Mamaw!” when I did something she thought could hurt me, especially in sports. Also, I can still picture her saying, “Well, hey baby!” as I entered their house and “Mamaw loves you!”

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while I wrapped her up in a hug each time as I was leaving. The last almost brought me to tears every time, like the many tears I have cried writing this paper. I do not think one ever really learns how to say goodbye. I know that I still have not. I try to perceive it as more of a “see you later,” as I know one day in heaven I will see her. That is the hope one must hold onto: the lessons he or she learned through the life and death of his or her loved one and the comfort in knowing that all true Christians will see each other again one day— this time for an eternity where no pain and no goodbyes exist only everlasting love, joy, peace, and happiness.


“Holocaust 44”•

by Anna Hunt- Lexington -

•Honorable Mention

Artwork

“Moon On The Loose” •

by Victor Sarmiento - Allen Thornton Career Technical Center / Brooks -

•2nd Place

Artwork

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Second Place • Artwork

He was a horror writer,

Major critic fighter.

His major themes were mad,

But that’s not so bad.

He wrote about life,

And even about his wife.

He was pretty crazy,

But his writings aren’t so hazy.

Lots of poetry,

And maybe a short story.

One about a wine . . .

Didn’t turn out so fine.

Another about Annabel Lee,

Who sleeps in her tomb by the sounding sea.

One was called “Lenore,”

And one with a raven who said “Nevermore!”

He included apparitions,

And even the Spanish Inquisition.

His settings were in the dead of night,

To give his readers quite a fright.

He could chill you to the bone.

Unlike anything you’ve ever known.

He created the detective story,

But it didn’t win him very much glory.

Poe was a sad soul,

And eventually alcohol took its toll.

When he died,

The literary world cried.

Edgar Allen Poeby Hannah Sims

- LCHS -

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Second Place • Poetry

Lucas's Demon • by Ashley Kennemer • Wilson

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The voice was a powerful weapon and an even greater tool. With a simple command, numerous lives could be taken. With a simple word or statement, multiple hearts could be broken and lives changed. With delicate words the most evil things in the world could be summoned. It seemed to him that the importance of words was becoming a foreign object, that nobody noticed how many evils their voice carried, that no one remembered how golden silence was. He wouldn’t admit it, but Lucas was afraid. He was afraid that the whispers would come back, that the torment would continue. His voice attracted evil, as the voice had said. It had spoken to him in the night always disturbing his sleep, and it always ended in him crying. The voice tormented him for years, and he could never escape it. It would always return to corrupt him more, and It would always find him in the night. No matter what he did, It always came back. It didn’t come around as much now that he had stopped talking, but it

“Heart of a Soldier”•

by Reagan Creekmore- Brooks -


Artwork

Second Place • Fiction

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still lingered in the shadows waiting for him to slip up and talk. It would always be there to threaten and lie and to use his own fears against him. It had one rule that Lucas had to obey: Don’t tell. It always remembered to remind him not to tell anyone about what was happening before disappearing for the night, and Lucas was honestly afraid of what would happen if he failed to keep quiet about it. Would It harm him? Or the one he told? What would It do? Lucas knew that it hurt those closest to him, especially when he first stopped talking. Drew and Sorren just couldn’t fathom him refusing to talk, and they were understandably confused as to why he wouldn’t tell them what had happened. Drew honestly began to believe that he had gone off the deep end, and Lucas knew that it was a valid possibility. (What if It was just a figment of his imagination? No, he knew It was real. It had to be.) It hurt Eris a lot, and Lucas knew that his older brother was trying not to let him see his frustration and his breakdowns, but he did. He knew that his parents were upset, but it was for their own good. It was all for them, for anybody he had ever known, and most importantly for himself. He couldn’t completely beat It, but he could prevent It from harming anyone. He could deal with this torment in the night. He could take the whispers and shouts heard only to him. He could take the sleepless nights. He could keep his secret. He had to. He couldn’t fail now. After dealing with this for so long, it would just be useless to give up now. He refused to let It win. No, he would be the victor here. Him, Lucas Holt, not this evil. He had long since accepted this punishment for some past sin of lives long gone. He could take anything thrown his way. As long as he could keep It from hurting the ones he loved, he would submit to this punishment. He would willingly suffer at Its hands, and he wouldn’t say a peep.

The End. Or is it?

Lucas's Demon • Second Place Fiction • Ashley Kennemer

Second Place • Non-Fiction

From the time we are born to the day we start high school, everyone tells us to “Be yourself”. All adults, teachers, preachers, and peers will accept us and love us no matter what. They shelter us from the world and tell us that we are all alike. We soon realize that we are not like the other kids. Instead

of wanting to play dress-up with the other girls, we may rather have played alone. If all of the guys wanted to build houses out of legos, we may have wanted to play with the girls. When we grow up, we see that we do not like the same clothes everyone loves or the music that plays on the radio. From that moment of childhood on, we are categorized into a clique. Teenagers who are different are told the

High School Bullying • by Ashley Peck • Rogers

“Unlucky” •

by Gracie KnightLexington

•Honorable MentionPhotography

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High School Bullying • Second Place Non-Fiction • Ashley Peck

that they will be okay. Parents underestimate high school. They do not realize our stresses and struggles we battle with daily. I have been in high school for only two years, and I already know what it is like to feel like I do not fit in. I know what it is like to be bullied. There is a dreaded whisper we hear when we walk into a room, whispers like “What the heck are they wearing?” or “Did you hear about what she did?” and, we cannot forget, “They are so ugly! No one will ever want them.” These small, snide comments may be perceived as nothing, but that is far from the truth. Every word, every whisper, every look, every laugh hurts. It is like a snake. Each word slithers into the mind, onto the skin. The words infiltrate the flesh and enter the soul, etched into our skin and scarred for eternity. They evacuate any ounce of confidence or self-worth we hold inside. When I was thirteen, I got a text on my birthday from my best-friend’s mom. I thought that she was calling to come to my party. Unfortunately, I got a rude awakening that day. Her mom told me that my friend had attempted suicide. I did not know what to think. How? Why? To this day, I have blamed myself. I knew her life. I knew she did not have a very good home life. I re-member staying on the phone with her at night just listening to her talk about how the other students at her school would make fun of her. What astounded me was how strong she was. She would never cry or complain. I guess now, if she did show her emotions, she would not have felt so terrible about herself and hated herself. I thought she was “tough” enough to handle the bullying. But in reality, no one can handle it. Bullying has taught me many lessons. First, words DO hurt. They will deprive a person of his/her confidence. Second, we should not be afraid to reach out. Whether we want to talk to an adult, a close friend, a preacher, or a teacher, these individuals will be happy to help us. Lastly, bullying is real. People say the victim is just being a baby and needs to get tough. Really, bully-ing could make people hate themselves so much that they feel that they do not

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have a reason to live anymore. They would rather take their life than have to go through every day, masked, mocked, and humiliated, being jeopardized of their sanity. Bullying is a serious problem and needs to be stopped. One person has the power. One person who stands up to bullying can start a revolution. We can reach out to those who are hurting. To everyone who is a victim, my advice is, “Don’t give up! You ARE important! Those insults are lies filled with jealousy. Just breathe and stand up for yourself. Do not let them win. You are a flower, filled with potential and beauty. Believe in yourself and bloom.”

High School Bullying • Second Place Non-Fiction • Ashley Peck

“Walking Barefoot in Shoal Creek”•

by Rachel Gray- Rogers -


Photography

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“A Perfect Hideaway”•

by Haley Crosby- Central -

•Second Place

Photography

Second Place • Photography

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“Hello Summer” •

by Chloe Allen - Central -

•3rd Place Photography

Third Place • Photography

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“Pines” •

by Mason McGee - Allen Thornton Career Technical Center / Brooks -

•3rd Place

Artwork

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Third Place • Artwork

Isn’t This a Paradox? • by Ashley Kennemer • Wilson While initially seeming like a normal day as Ozymandias could tell it was far from normal. He had woken up at eight in the morning, an unusual occurrence in its own, to the sound of activity in his kitchen. It couldn’t have been Kotone because she would have already pounced on him, and Ren was spending a week doing ‘Renly’ things, so he could rule out both his friends. It could’ve been his cousins checking in on him, but Alice usually would have kicked his door in by now. Besides Hollow was like an elephant, so he would know if it were his cousins. With a sigh Oz threw the covers off his body, feet hitting the cold wood of his floor not a minute later. Small sparks of excess magic lapped at the air around him, forcing yet another sigh from his mouth. He could deal with his build-up magic after dealing with his ‘guest’; it’s not like he was going to blow the house up after all. (He made sure that it never got to that point again.)

Third Place • Fiction

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“Flute Tunnel” •

by Tory EatonWilson


Photography

He crept out into the hallway quietly, trained for stealth by his dear, vicious cousin. It wasn’t long before he was peering into the kitchen, emerald eyes locked onto the figure sitting in his chair drinking his coffee. He couldn’t have been any more than ten years older than himself, putting him somewhere in his early twenties. A well-worn cloak similar to his own adorned the man’s body. He had the hood down, leaving his ruffled blonde hair visible. He couldn’t really tell since the stranger was sitting, but he seemed to be at least a foot taller than Oz. He wasn’t as tall as men are supposed to be, but he was pretty tall compared to the young magi. Not that he was intimidated by this stranger, of course. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” His voice was silvery, and Oz would have described it as bitter sugar- or maybe honey- if such words could be used to describe a voice. The stranger didn’t seem to be talking to himself, but there wasn’t anyone else with him. He couldn’t have been talking to him, could he? He was sitting towards the window, facing away from the oddly placed door. He hadn’t moved his head, only sipping coffee while reading some huge book, so he couldn’t possibly have seen him. “Alright,” the man gave a deep sigh as he turned around to look at Oz. “You can stop hiding behind the door frame. It’s not doing anything for you.” Oz, flustered beyond belief and just a little angry, stormed into the kitchen at that statement. How dare he? Breaking into his house, eating his food, and then having the nerve to be rude to him? The man took one look at him before bursting into laughter. “What’s so funny?” Oz bristled, stray magic sparking around him as he crossed his arms. “Ah,” The man composed himself before leaning forward, chin resting on clasped hands. “Sorry. I just recalled how volatile we used to be. Well, in your case still are.” A teasing smirk tugged at the man’s lips, dark emerald eyes showing just how calm he was compared to the teenager. “What do you mean by we?” Oz tapped his foot, patience wearing thin

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Isn't This A Paradox • Third Place Fiction • Ashley Kennemer

thin as he waited for an answer. “In case you haven’t noticed, we are simply one and the same. I am the Ozymandias from ten years in the future.” Oz froze, staring the man down. He had to be lying. There was no way that he could grow up to be such a jerk. Besides, the only time travel he’d seen was Gale and that mo-ron wasn’t even human. “Ah, the famous look of disbelief. I know that one well.” The man, this ‘Oz’, hummed softly. “Before you ask how, let me explain. While you, no we, do get better at magic, we still make mistakes every so often. You can con-sider this meeting a mistake stemming from being foolish enough to learn a new spell while Kotone’s home.” Stunned into silence, Oz’s head was swirling with questions. He lived with Kotone? Does that mean they were going out? Or that he could actual-ly use magic in the future and wasn’t afraid of it anymore? This was all too much for him. “Hey now, one thing at a time. You’re about to become a phoenix.” Ozymandias, the older one, murmured, sighing softly. “Calm down, take a deep breath, and when you’re calm, you can ask everything you want to.” Oz closed his eyes, attempting to calm his breath and quell his racing thoughts at the same time. A few minutes passed in relative silence before he actually opened his eyes, tilting his head so that he could meet the eyes of his older self. “What’s the future like?” He asked softly, almost afraid to know the answer. The future was unpredictable, and that alone made him want to take his question back immediately. Ozymandias snorted; of course he would go for that question above all others. “It’s not much different actually. You live with Ren and Kotone, and I’d say that your relationship with both of them has surely grown.” He paused for a minute, awkwardly coughing to hide his embarrassment. Was it really that bad living with the two? Sure, they could be unruly when to-gether

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gether as a trio, but to be embarrassed? “Alice is still, well, sweet and ador-able one minute and kicking the door down the next. I’m pretty sure Hol-low never changes. Ren actually became a master on dragons; Kotone still makes music. Oh, yeah, and you finally learn how to control your magic. You should be learning that around this time actually.” Wait, what? Why around this time, shouldn’t he be having more con-tact with a magician if that were the case? “Who’s going to teach me?” Ozymandias sighed, leaning back in the chair. “That, Oz, is where things get complicated. I’m assuming I’m meant to be the one to teach you, but I was taught by an alternate, younger version of us who had been using magic his whole life. This situation would be understandable if I weren’t from the same time-line. If you or I were an alternate timeline, Oz, this would be normal.” He sighed, tangling his hand in his own hair. “Is...Is that even possible?” Oz stared at him blankly, a complete dead-pan. Ozymandias shrugged, giving a short grin. “Guess we’ll find out while I’m here, yeah?” Oz gave him another look, confusion clouding his eyes. The older burst out into laughter, removing his hand from his hair to wave it in the air excitably. “The spell I was learning when it backfired was one of my own, and well, let’s just say I have no idea whatsoever on how to get home.” Oz sighed, sitting down at the other chair, covering his eyes with his hands. “I’m going to need a lot more coffee.” “Agree to most definitely agree.” Oz snorted, trying to control his laughter before it just broke into un-controllable hysterics. You had to give him credit – he sure kept up with the ’Oz tradition’ of saying weird things like that. “Okay, okay, maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”

What is music to me? Music is my escape from the reality of the world. Music allows humans to use the greatest instrument of all, their ears. There is a whole different world that a people shape, however they want, by using music. It reaches far into my soul and pulls out pieces of me people do not see. Music allows feelings to flow like a waterfall when words fail. Without music, I could not express this side of me and would no longer have a love as strong as the love I have for music. The sensation that overtakes me like a tsunami wave when playing or listening to music is indescribable. Music is a passion that burns in my heart like a wildfire. Every day is a new day, a new start. When a person first wakes up, there is no guarantee or knowledge that he/she will carry out a good or

bad day. With this outlook on life a person could infer that every day, whether good or bad, is determined by certain events that happen within that day. Everyone knows that a person will have bad days; there is no doubting that fact. People escape those days like they would a burning house. They take any stairway or hallway that leads them somewhere else, their happy place.

Music • • • by Katelyn Mitchell • • • Central

“Blue Guitar”•

by Evan ThreetAllen Thornton

Career Technical Center- Brooks -

Third Place • Non-Fiction

- 32-

Music is my escape. When I say music, I actually mean music, the orchestras and wind symphonies and not the rap or the pop. These orchestras and symphonies shape a completely different world and the musician decides how to shape that world. Music is a beautiful thing because you can create moods using music. If I were having a bad day and feeling angry or upset, I could play a piece of music written in a minor key. A minor key gives the audience or musician a sense of sadness or anger. As I play a piece written in a minor key, I can interpret feelings without ever using words. If I were having a good day and I wanted to express my joy and happiness, I could play a piece written in a major key. A major key provides feelings of joy, overcoming something, going on an adventure, or happiness. The list is endless, but either way my feelings and emotions are pouring out using notes and rhythms instead of words. I struggle with letting my feelings out; I have a tendency to bottle things inside. With music all of these emotions flow out of me like lava running from a volcano. Music provides me with the ability to be lost in music and escape the world. Ears are a beautiful instrument when used correctly. If someone were to ask a person what his/her definition of an instrument is, I can almost guarantee the person would not say his/her ears when in fact our ears are the greatest instrument of all. Ears decide whether what a person is hearing is pleasing or not. Dissonance is what people hear when a chord is played that sounds wrong and that sound makes the ears feel uncomfortable. On the contrary, when a person hears something that sounds pleasing and almost perfect, he/she is hearing consonance. As a musician my ears pick out things in music that most people do not hear. I do not listen to music based solely on the feeling I get from it, although that is a factor; I listen to hear the chords and different rhythms. When I hear the certain A minor chords or C major fifths, the sound is simply beautiful. The way a counter medley fits perfectly under a medley is like putting that last puzzle piece in the right spot. When musicians play notes, they aim to other. This means when they play, it sounds beautiful.

Music • Third Place Non-Fiction • Katelyn Mitchell

- 33 -

Music • Third Place Non-Fiction • Katelyn Mitchell

be in tune with each other. This means when they play, it sounds like one player, and there is no disagreement between them. Musicians use their ears to listen to one another to bend their pitch to match. A person's ears are the true instruments. Music washes the dust and nasty parts of life away for me. Whenever I play music, I am a part of that piece of music. If the song is sad, I can pull out parts of me that express my grief. If it is a fanfare and exciting, my sound becomes bouncy and joyful. Music to me is not just about playing a song well and pleasing an audience. Music is how I express myself. I become the music and interpret a story through my music. As I listen to an orchestra or wind symphony, I can almost see the story they are painting while playing. Music takes me on an adventure, and I can see worlds I have always wanted to explore. Ultimately, I cannot explain in words the feeling I get from music. It is like trying to describe love; no one can really define it. However, I can explain it this way; music is like an everyday law to me and it gives soul to every aspect of life. The mind grows wings when listening to music and causes the imagination to take flight and soar. Music gives charm to life and to everything. Without music life would be dull. It sharpens the mind and imagination. It allows me to express parts of me that I cannot express with words. A person could describe music as what feelings sound like. Music reflects what I go through like a crystal clear stream reflects snowcapped mountains. Music that has lyrics tell me or describe for me how I feel unlike music without lyrics. Orchestras and wind symphonies are the skin and bones of true music because they allow me to express in my own way how I feel. The bottom line is that I am in love with music and always will be. I believe in music like little girls believe in fairytales. Music is not simply what I do but who I am. Music helps me escape the reality I live in and provides me a way to express what words are incapable of describing.

- 34 -

He sits at his desk waiting

Hands having held thousands of lives

The keeper of all the world’s knowledge

Waiting quietly for another soul to pick up a new life

Eyes having seen countless worlds

of new lands, uncharted seas, fierce battles, deep jungles,

new love, broken hearts, ageless death.

He sits holding the key to worlds that will never die

Feet having led innumerable passengers

To gates of new realms of untold possibility.

He leads never having to leave the room covered in

shelves full of colorful bindings

But for all these things he sits quietly

Waiting for another soul to pick up a new life.

The Librarianby Chance Gray

- Lexington -

Third Place • Poetry

- 35 -

- 36 -

“The Gorilla” •by

Audrey Hill- Rogers -

•Honorable

MentionArtwork

“Elephant” •by

Caroline Graham- Brooks -

•Honorable

MentionArtwork

- 37 -

“Snow Ball” •by

Gracie Knight- Lexington -

•Honorable

MentionPhotography

“Feelings of Fall” •by

Brianna WolfgangAllen Thornton Career Technical Center

- Brooks -•

Honorable MentionArtwork

Gifted • • • by McKenzie Morrison • • • LCHS

Addelyn is the cliché blonde hair blue eyed beauty who has everything she could possibly want and more. She is popular, has ton of friends, a perfect boyfriend, and perfect family. She is captain of the varsity volleyball team and dedicated member of the honors society. Her parents are both extremely successful; her boyfriend is captain of the basketball and golf teams. Her life is a dream, or so everyone thinks, but Addelyn has a secret that no one knows. When Addelyn was about ten years old, she started having visions of caraccidents, tragedies, and other unfortunate events. She thought about telling her parents but she never did, thinking it was better to just keep quiet. She never wanted people to think that she was any different than the girl that she always has been. On her 13th birthday she had a vision of an inflamed vehicle. She could feel the burning of the fire; she was choking on the lack of oxygen. She was the person in the vehicle. She could hear children screaming from somewhere farther back in the car along with the sounds of approaching sirens. She came back to reality shortly after. Her head was pounding from where she hit her head on the tile of the bathroom floor. She could hear the television blaring from the living room not twenty feet away. She had this vision for a week straight before it actually happened. It came

Honorable Mention • Fiction

- 38 -

“Poppies in the Sun”•

by Kailey Grace Butler- Rogers -


Artwork

came to her at random times. After a week had passed, Addelyn thought it was over, but when she was watching the 6 o’clock news that night with her father, a breaking news alert flashed across the screen. The reporter was telling of a car accident that had happened on Route 66 south of Snake Drive by the old cotton warehouse. Addelyn gasped and then looked to her father to see if he had noticed her sudden intake of breath. She zoned back in on the words that the reporter was saying. The family was hit by an 18 wheeler when the drunken mother had run a four way stop. The mother was killed instantly and the children had been severely injured. The reporter stated how miraculous it was that the children survived such a severe accident. Addelyn exhaled her breath in relief that the children were safe and not in life threatening danger. After the news report, Addelyn realized that the visions had become more realistic and destructive. For years Addelyn had kept her visions a secret, never letting anyone close enough to her to see her true self, but the visions started to change her. She eventually stopped hanging out with her friends as much; she didn’t go to parties anymore, and her boyfriend dumped her. She became reclusive and always stuck to the back of the crowd. She became more withdrawn from her family not wanting them to think she was a freak for having this ability. She started to believe that it was more of a curse than a gift. It never truly helped her with anything; it just made her feel like an outcast and that she didn’t belong anymore. Addelyn believed that she was a freak and that she was alone. It was a cold rainy Saturday night and Addelyn was home as she was on most Saturday nights. Her parents worked long hours because her father, a lawyer, and her mother, a well known interior designer, were usually busy, but they always took off on Saturdays to spend the day with her, and then they would go on a date night. She loved her parents with all her heart and didn’t want them to stop loving her because of her visions. Addelyn was in the basement in the makeshift movie theater room. This was the only room in the house that Addelyn’s mother had not renovated. The basement was her sanctuary, the only place she could have complete

Gifted • Honorable Mention - Fiction • McKenzie Morrison

- 39 -


serenity. She had convinced her mother to let her decorate it all on her own. The only thing her mother had a say in was the color of the walls which were painted a pale yellow to add light to the room. Addelyn’s mother had bought an “L” shaped couch that was in the very middle of the room right in front of the basement stairs. Straight in front of the couch was a large flat screen television with every gaming system one could imagine; on both sides of the TV were shelves filled with movies, games, and CDs. There were several bean bags in a corner of the room where Addelyn liked to read her books. She loved reading. There was nothing better than escaping into a good book. She loved all genres, but romance was her favorite. She was a hopeless romantic, always waiting for that right guy to sweep her off her feet. She wanted to be an author when she got older. She would write romance novel after romance novel until she could write no more. She kept a journal of her visions and how she felt while she was in them, hoping that one day they would make a great novel. It was hidden safely in a secret compartment in a loose floorboard in her bedroom underneath a pink fury rug that her mother had bought at some boutique in New York about a year and a half ago. Addelyn was lying in warm little cocoon on the “L” shaped couch in the basement watching one of her favorite movies on the flat screen TV. The main character was just about to kiss her best friend after they had confessed their everlasting love for each other when she heard a loud noise from somewhere upstairs that sounded like glass shattering. Addelyn was never the person to call someone stupid in the movies when they go towards the creepy noises. She always encouraged them, considering she would do the same thing. She jumped from her warm safe haven and bolted for the stairs, eager for some type of action. When she got to the top of the stairs, she opened the basement door and walked into the hallway, kitchen to the left, living room to the right. She went left towards the kitchen and saw that someone had thrown something through the window over the sink. She carefully stepped over the glass to get to the backdoor. She twisted the dead bolt, unlocked the door handle, and swung the

- 40 -

door open. She could see a figure standing by the trees in her backyard, half- hidden behind a large pine tree. She stepped onto the back patio and slowly made her way towards the figure hoping not to scare whoever it was away. She could see the figure slowing moving to the right, edging towards the old wooden swing that was hung on the largest tree in the yard. She kept moving forward at the same pace as the figure moved to the right. She stopped about three yards from the swing and stood eye to eye with the mysterious figure. It was a boy. He was about 18, only a year older than Addelyn. He had short blonde hair that was styled in a messy way like he had just rolled out of bed. He had piercing green eyes that looked like they belonged on a cat. He glanced down at the swing, and that’s when Addelyn noticed the small white envelope with her name written on it in beautiful calligraphy. They just stared at each other until she picked up the envelope and ripped the seal. It was a letter for her.

Dear Addelyn my sweet daughter,

I know this must be strange for you but the next thing that you read is going to be the most important thing you will learn. You are a special person and you have a special gift, one that others would kill for. You need to be very careful to whom you tell of your gift. It may not seem like a gift, but there is so much good that comes along with your visions. My friend has come for you and he will take you to safety. The life that you have always known will be no more. Everything you have ever known has been a lie. Your parents are very close friends of mine that I have hired to watch you and keep you safe all these years. It broke my heart to have to leave you at such a young age, but their time is over, and now it is time to return to where you belong. You will not be forced to come along, but if you wish to stay, then you will never be able to learn to control your visions and they may destroy you. I love you my dear Addelyn and hope that you make the right choice and come home.

Love, your mother


- 41 -

“Circled Sky” by Melissa Garner

Allen Thornton Career Technical Center- Brooks -

- 42 -

“Sweet Summer” by Tia Wear

- Wilson -

“Dreams” by Lisa Cochran

- Wilson -

“Sunset” by Lucrecia Booth

Allen Thornton Career Technical Center- LCHS -

“Snow of Hope”by Darby Shelton

- Central -

- 43 -

so dark so quietthe calm cool wind blows

the moon rose like a ghosttranslucent light in midstof gray waves rolling slow

the quiet vanishes to soft musical notes

which comes from the choirthere a cricket plays his violin

soft and low like a maestrothen he is followed by

the owl with low deep tonethen others join in

creatures come to dancea light show begins

the little sparks from here then therego in symphony to their maestro

the little moon is smiling at his entertainment

the creatures get tired and go before the moon descendsthrough the lightening skythe choir can no longer sing

they gently fall asleep the quiet is maintained for momentsbefore there is light, like fire spreads

silence is broken, to morning musicians they sing to their friends for the whole world

until the cycle starts over

Nightby Amanda Newton

- Allen Thornton Career Technical Center / Lexington -

Honorable Mention • Poetry

- 44 -

Tears well up in your eyes, blue of the skies

The pain beyond all of these years, distressed

Sanguine messenger, how did you survive?

Out of this, old world, awesomely modest.

Beguile you, hurt you, how do you still love?

On earth no more to ne’er view a new day

Ascending white wings up for heav’n above

Life has ended, t’was us whom you forgave.

An image of His word to us imprint

Intended to turn us all to His love

To heed all of the problems that we vent

In hopes that we would reach that place most belov’d.

Perhaps a few, a group will understand,

Attain the love of God’s unchanging hand.


Old Oneby Kaitlyn Frazier

- Central -

- 45 -

“Two Roses” by Candice Gonzalez

Allen Thornton Career Technical Center- Waterloo -

“Girl in Lace Hat” by Alex Blevins

Allen Thornton Career Technical Center- Wilson -

“Let Them Eat Dots” by Victor Sarmiento


“Longing forAnother World”

by Hannah RichardsonAllen Thornton Career Technical Center

- Rogers -

We wrote our names together in the Book of Destiny;Our love blossomed like calla lilies in the Land of Milk and Honey,

But we lost sight of Jesus and the calling on our lives.I lost all I wanted when you surrendered our reprieve;

All of Heaven was in line when you asked me for my heart;Father God never wanted for us to ever be apart.

Dreaming with my darling was the perfect little life,And you loved me back enough to blind discerning eyes.

Heaven cast us out for the idols that we kept;We forsook salvation for each other and Jesus wept.

Caught between the sky and Hell, we loved with all our might,But falling down to nothing ends in shattered lonely nights.

The cloudy floor before God’s throne had always kept us on our feet,But without it, you stopped falling for me, and slipped out of my reach.

Trapped on Earth without you, I began to lose my mind;I sought out any influence to keep you by my side.Your darling little angel met the Devil at the door;

I wrote my name in blood for him to even up the score,But he took all his advantages of me that dying day,And I rejected Jesus and His promise for my name.

I called you back a thousand times and tried to make you seeThat I still loved and wanted you, though you’d disagree.

Bittersweet the rain did fall as familiar angels cried,I started keeping score of all the times you lied.

The Perfect Brideby Reagan Creekmore

- Brooks -


- 46 -

Missing you had never hit so hard before;I guess I’ll wait for you as I pass out on the floor.

Carry me down from the Heavens if you wish for me to stay,But if not, I will keep fading away.

Beg and scream, plead for my life, I signed it away for you;Open up the Heavens and call me down to you.

I never cared about the life I was living in my sin;All I wanted was to be a part of the world that you were in.You can’t tell me you gave it all for something that we lost,

When you’re overlooking what I’ve gained is smaller than my cost.They say redemption comes from forgiving all the wrongs,

But you’re still bitter at the world and I’m still writing songsCondemnation at its best describes how you treat me.

It wasn’t always like this; we used to be happy.I guess you just got tired of fighting for paradise,

But I still loved you too much more to pretend that I was nice.You doomed me down to Hell that day when I was wearing white;

Jesus gained another soldier as His jilted bride.

If you capture me the cosmos, I might dream with you again;Nothing can replace the perfect love that we were in.

Only you in a broken voice can call me out of Hell,But you loved Jesus too much more to bid me my farewell

The lovers’ dance among the stars could chill the burning flames,But starlit planets and crystalline Heavens erased memory of my name

You’re still holding up the Earth with my love, your eternal bounty.I won the fight of “I love you more’s,” but then again, who’s counting?

The Perfect Bride • Honorable Mention - Poetry • Reagan Creekmore

- 47 -

I journeyed far, shackled in my chains, among the burning stars.Heaven never seemed this small with us this far apart. Unwittingly I

served as the serpent to your sin;My love was your forbidden fruit, yet I’d feed it to you again.

I tempted you with a life that seemed too good to be true,But I was sincere, and watched in dismay, as fear crept into you.

You bought me from the Devil, yet you left me there to burn;I slept all alone in Hell and awaited your return.

We loved with such sweet purity, something not to be abused,But you gave up your side of perfection and I became confused.

You turned your back on all you loved for fear of what you’d lose;Both God and I broke and cried for we weren’t what you’d choose.

Caught up in your Earthly loves, you contracted out your soul,Yet I sought my redemption, and my Lord took back control.

I renounced my idols and my sins and all my lies;I gave Jesus back my name and He stole my demise.

Once again I worshipped Him in the floor before His feet,Yet I still wonder if ever again in eternity we’ll meet

I fear for you and your wandering soul on Earth without me there;You wear your sin and pain, a cloak; my only hope is prayer.

Think of me often through your years ,and if you do come back,I’ll love you still, and still will God, even if your heart is black.

But for now your face is lost, alone down on the Earth;I’ll remember the love we shared, though you never knew my worth.

Others meet where we once lived, here in this holy place;I am clean and have found new comfort in a softer face.

Now I’m waiting by the holy altar with Jesus by my side;I’ll miss you on that perfect day when I’m the perfect bride.

The Perfect Bride • Honorable Mention - Poetry • Reagan Creekmore

- 48 -

- 49 -

“Flowers Night” by Amanda Newton

Allen Thornton Career Technical Center- Lexington -

“Spring Life”by Anna Hunt

- Lexington -

“Summer Fun With Bandit”

by Tia Wear- Wilson -

“Serendipity”by Albany Dial

- Central -

“Gypsy” by Samantha Kauffman

Allen Thornton Career Technical Center

- Rogers -

“Untitled” by Briley Walker

- Lexington -

“Purple People” by Kaitlyn Tatum

- LCHS -

“Imagination” by Makayla North

Allen Thornton Career Technical Center

- Brooks -

“Blues” by Lauren TaftAllen Thornton Career

Technical Center- Brooks -

- 50 -

“Cosmic Tree” by Mason McGee

Allen Thornton CareerTechnical Center

- Brooks -

- 51 -

“Cat's Pace” by Kristin Garrett

Allen Thornton Career Technical Center- Brooks - “In Bloom”

by Carrie ManselAllen Thornton Career Technical Center

- Wilson -

“Big Spade” by Darby EmbryAllen Thornton Career

Technical Center- Rogers -

“Black and White” by Ashtyn Parrish

Allen Thornton CareerTechnical Center

- Rogers -

Earthby Savannah Owen

- LCHS -

Your beauty is everywhere

In the towering, robust trees with their ever-changing colors,

Red, Brown, Yellow, Orange, Green

Stretching up to Heaven above

To the depths of the ocean

Where creatures crawl and lurk about the sandy floor.

The night time stars strewn above;

The moon a glowing orb.

Snow capped mountains, rocky canyons, colossal glaciers,

All proving the magnificence of the place we call Earth,

But the inhabitants aren’t so kind.

They are careless not managing or conserving resources;

They destroy and kill without batting an eye.

This behavior can only go on so long.

Soon this beautiful country, planet, world, universe

Will be destroyed,

And we’ll only have ourselves to blame.


- 52 -

- 53 -

“Creamer and Egg” by Jared Darracott

- LCHS -

“Watching from the Trees” by Audrey Hill

- Rogers -

“Untitled” by Kaylee Word

- LCHS

“School Bus” by Ryan Gean - Waterloo

“Kellin Quinn and MattyMullins in Concert”

by Skylar Rutherford- Waterloo -

My life consistently fades from shades of white to gray,

The pale flower smells full of the sun, but my eyes cannot see her beauty,

But contain only of the pigment that irritates night.

My experience of this earth is not normal as the normal would say,

The absence of light consumes the existence around my presence,

Darkness paints its portrait, covering the truth of the hidden.

I do not mourn, but kindly wish upon every black starry night.

Will I ever or could I ever be gifted with such normality? No.

Only in my dreams will I see the royal blue flower petals.

Colorsby Anna Hunt

- Lexington -


“Colorful Insights”by Brianna Wolfgang


“Neon Rainbow Owl” by Savannah Sims


- 54 -

- 55 -

- Henry Ward Beecher -

Every artist dips his

brush in his soul, and

paints his own nature

into his pictures.

sweet inspirations spring 2014

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