Essays from an Adventure, Part 7: Squidge

Submitted by Mary on Sat, 09/15/2018 - 14:13

I dozed off a little once it was morning, and woke up to stewardesses opening window covers and serving breakfast.
The captain’s voice came on, in a prim, polite British accent.
“Good morning, passengers, we hope you had a restful night. We’ve just passed over the Isle of Mann, and will be beginning our descent into London shortly.”
Isle of Mann…London…Whoa. I peered groggily out the window. The sun was just getting high enough to lose its morning softness, and I squinted against its growing glare, trying to see down through the patchy clouds.

Joyful Morning

Submitted by Laura Elizabeth on Tue, 08/16/2011 - 03:47

 Here's a little poem I wrote that I hope ya'll enjoy! Also, for those of you who didn't know, I wrote a second part to Amira.


How long the night has been, Mother,

When will it be day?

Sorrow fills my mind;

Is the darkness here to stay?


Nay, my child, the night must end,

The sun shall rise once more;

There shall be a joyful morning

Of this I am sure.


Mother, the moon is clouded,

The stars I cannot see;

How can you trust the sunrise

The Forests of Evenlear, Part Two: The Next Morning

Submitted by Mary on Sat, 06/18/2011 - 01:14

A gusty autumn wind was blowing around the corners and eaves of the mansion when I awoke the next morning. I scarcely remembered arriving the night before, I had been so exhausted, but now I was well-rested and eager for a good breakfast to begin the day. Climbing out of my soft, warm bed (that I considered far too large for just one person), I crossed to the window and pulled the cord to draw back the heavy curtains.

Away with the Night

Submitted by Hannah W. on Sun, 09/06/2009 - 03:38

Something held her at the topmost stair,
another hand beside her own
and the ghostly wind through the night pulsed soft,
Was it music or did it moan?
She was drawn out toward the night
like a moth drawn to the light
To fly into the candle,
to fly into the flame,
is to be more than courage,
is to rise above shame
And the ellum awoke and shook themselves
and they wept for something that only they felt
And she nearly stepped out into the star-swirling dark

Still Coming

Submitted by Bernadette on Sun, 08/30/2009 - 17:56

With my arm around the candle

And my boots thumping on the ground

Though the sky is still gray

I'm still coming

Out in the dim lit earth

To see Your glory dawn.  

(written when it was 6:41, in the morning, waking from a dream)

The Morning Watchmen

Submitted by Elizabeth on Tue, 05/19/2009 - 03:42

Leaves dangle
Light lingers little
Birds are hushing
Sky blushes pale

Darkness falls
Stars gleam
Moon rises
Tree frogs sing

The night whispers
With early spring choir
The path is strewn
With fallen flower

Weary, worn, the world lays
Lonely, forlorn, the people pray
Steadfast, sturdy, the Father listens
Gentle, caring, the Father beckons

Fears are assured, rest falls
Upon the sheep gathered in fold
The Shepherd watches
The Shepherd stands
Along side the flock

It is Dawn

Submitted by Bernadette on Mon, 01/12/2009 - 20:29

Breaking through the horizons
With golden rays of haze
Sparkling the dew, and glinting
Upon the waters
Sloping rain drenched plains
Casting yellow rays unto the hills
Mountains tall, shadows in morn
The sky is majestic
As the birds sing

Golden-green shines in the leaves
Forest dark is lightened by fire
And the creatures stir
The shadows blown away
The fresh winds come
The brightness blinds
As it blushes in the clouds
Something comes over dark fields
It is dawn

Sea so Deep

Submitted by Bernadette on Wed, 07/16/2008 - 20:51

The night so fair
Wind so cool
Deep waves of sea
Flow ever on

The stars glimmer
Spreading brightness
On deep blue sea
Fair moon
Above the sea

The sky, the sea
Deep blue
Rushing sound
Of waves

The wave’s lapping shore
Tide pulls in
As sun rises
Over peaks
Of blue seas
Shall endure the morn.

Wind Rider

Submitted by Heather on Sun, 03/09/2008 - 03:16
I see him in a field
Riding his horse
Up and down
The hooves never touch
The grassy ground
The long stalks of the
Mid-summer grass bend
Under the breeze of
Horse and Rider
Mist rolling across the
Field before them
He drives it on
With his breath
Sweetness of the
Rippling waves of white
Engulf me
I breathe in the Scent of sun-dried
Wind-touched grass in
The mist of early morning
I see him galloping
Toward me
A breath sweeps my hair
Away from my face