Tram Square
by Austin, fourth grade writer
This afternoon, I am boarding the 2:45 tram to Fenway Park. I get on the empty and lifeless train within the underground-like fortress, which is North Station.
We are now in the dark tunnel, and you cannot see anything outside it. Then a few minutes later…. THE LIGHT!!!!!! I finally see cars: metallic black, environmental green, and mangled as if in a demolition derby. I see people with short flat hair, long wavy hair, and even blue and red hair! Everyone is just storming into the narrow doors. Oh, the chaos! People of all cultures--Italian, English, French, Dominican, and American--were all coming to the BIG Red Sox vs. Yankees game!
As I get off the train, I become part of the crowd, frantically looking for a place to mesh in. When I look back toward the train, I see a square drifting off into the streets of Boston. As I am full of joy and excitement, the train is empty and lifeless once again.
(Click here to view and print Austin and one of his classmate'' descriptions.)
The Trolley
by Betsy, sixth grade writer
It is a dark rainy day. I am waiting for the trolley to go by. The
dreary raindrops pitter-patter on my umbrella, and slide off it like
tears. Finally, the moment I've been waiting for. I see a small object
down the street. As it grows, it expands like someone's lung when they
are inhaling. As it passes me, there is a blur of vivid colors, and my
imagination explodes. A burst of colors and shapes flood into my mind,
washing away all my thoughts, even those I was just thinking a moment
before. My mind is blank but fuller than anyone else's mind.
My vision
zooms in closer, to see what is within the spectacular walls of the
trolley. I see a boy wearing a coat as black as a panther, ready to
pounce. A creamy shawl whispers quietly in the corner trying not to be
noticed, but unsuccessful, for its beauty is hard to miss. The rain
splashes up from puddles, making the image look like a water color with
too much water, dripping down the canvas. Then, as quickly as it had
come, the trolley was fading, shrinking smaller and
smaller as it got father away, just as a lung shrinks when it is
exhaling.
Then, I am left in the quiet stillness of the street. The only
sound that I can hear now is the trees, whispering like old ladies,
telling secrets too old for man today to understand. I become dizzy
from all the sharp colors piercing at my mind. I lay down in the wet
grass as the moon arises, looking like a perfect button stitched in the
sky to keep the world from falling apart. As I close my eyes, the
crickets start to join in to the chorus of birds, and I am lost in my
imagination. I see the image of the trolley going by and fly in to the
colors. As I look around me at the beauty of art, a startling thought
occurred to me, but a wonderful thought too. I had just glimpsed the
beauty of the world for what it really is.
The world is the most
beauteous thing, and we must cherish that, before it has gone. The world
is our most valuable possession. The world is of great importance to us.
The most vivid beauty of all. A beauty that so many people had failed to
notice and that so many others had forgotten.
The Bike in the Park
The Eagle