[Y]oung Writers Project, an independent nonprofit based in Burlington, engages young people to write and use digital media to express themselves with clarity and power, and to gain confidence and skills for school, the workplace and life.
Check out the most recent issue of The Voice, Young Writers Project’s monthly digital magazine. Click here.
Each week, VTDigger features a writing submission – an essay, poem, fiction or nonfiction – accompanied by a photo or illustration from Young Writers Project.
YWP publishes about 1,000 students’ work each year here, in newspapers across Vermont, on Vermont Public Radio and in YWP’s monthly digital magazine, The Voice. Since 2006, it has offered young people a place to write, share their photos, art, audio and video, and to explore and connect online at youngwritersproject.org. For more information, please contact Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org.
Spring is a time of rebirth – nature kicking in for its big show. We notice the sudden shifts of the season, from snow to rain and bare branches to full blooms, but rarely do we think about the processes occurring beneath our feet before they become visible. This week’s Thetford poet Zia Smith illustrates the growth of a small seedling interacting with the elements around it to finally bring forth its beauty into the world.
The Seed and the Sun
By Zia Smith, 16
[T] he seed lies in the soil.
It is silent, covered in a blanket of darkness.
It dreams of wriggling
and squeezing into the sunlight,
craving the warmth of the mother sun.
However, it waits,
hoping that spring is on the way.
Spring – it is here.
With open arms and a watering can,
spring slowly begins to tend to its garden.
Carefully and patiently,
it brings the wind to wake the small seed.
The seed is ready.
Days, weeks pass.
The seed’s fingers climb,
pushing the dirt to the side,
gulping down each drop of precious water,
and living for the touch of the sun –
the beautiful, radiant sun,
with her loving embrace, waiting.
The seed knows it is close.
There is a ringing sound
made by vibrant colors cascading over the Earth.
The seed’s fingers can feel it now –
it is finally free.
Eventually,
the fingertips morph into petals.
They can hear the waking of the animals,
the birds singing in unison,
the streams gurgling a deep melody,
the trees waving a message…
and all of them thanking spring.
Spring nods and continues with its garden,
bending down into the soft mud.
The mother sun up above
lowers her head with a smile.
