On November 13-14 of this year, the AP Language classes of Mr. Joseph Friedman and Mr. Peter Honig took a walk around the SBHS campus with the purpose of carefully observing their environment for a descriptive writing exercise. During the following class, they wrote about their experiences using the following prompt:
“Write a descriptive paragraph in which you capture something unique about the topography of South Brunswick and SBHS (“the dreaming memory of land as it lay this way and that,” as Annie Dillard calls it).”
After completing the exercise, each section selected their favorite paragraph. The Viking Vibe is proud to present the winning pieces:
Tanisi Reddy (Friedman 1A)
I was never really a morning person. The winter air seeping through the days, getting stronger and stronger as weeks fade into a cold block of ice. But the difference between autumn and winter is that one paints a picture, while the other washes it down back to its blank canvas. It was one of those days where nature decided to begin washing down its annual painting. The amber leaves on the trees were still transitioning, yet they were falling as if they couldn’t wait for their comrades to complete their change. The sky was matted cotton, breaking apart and revealing the blue sea above. The sun leaked through, spilling its ink all over the grass. One thing I’ve realized is that no matter how much the universe tries to scrub fall back into winter, the sun always tries to persist. He’s the savior from the life of bleak coldness. So as it turns to late November, and the foliage begins to wither away into the ground, I realized that I should always attend to the sun. It’s the only source of warmth in this time of hardship and reset.
Sarvesh Raghupathy (Friedman 2A)
Within the grounds of the school, filled with life and joy, there lay the carcass of a tree, stripped bare of its leaves, its color. It was the one piece of the landscape that was devoid of life; anyone within a mile of it could see the forked branches that resembled lightning. It felt so out of place that one might question why it still stands, for the school was just one phone call from tearing that dead tree down, without ever having a second thought. It was already lifeless; cutting down the black, almost charred trunk would not impact anyone in even the slightest way. Yet it would; birds of size great and small could often be seen going to and fro from the tree. Even though the tree itself had no life, it was the center of an entire ecosystem, built around what was once a beautiful creation of nature. Who knew so much life could depend on something that lost its own? It’s almost as if the tree’s life is conserved, but nature found a different way to express it. Life as we know it might be conserved, like energy or mass. Whether it be in the form of stardust, or a dead tree on the school’s ground, life will find a way to persist.
Akshara Satheesh (Honig 4A)
The wind traveled through the leaves, forcefully guiding them in one direction. They stay hanging on the tree, fighting from the force breaking it off the branch. Moments away from separation, they cling on the tree for dear life. For once they are off the tree they are forgotten and lost into the wind. The tree is their identity, they are nothing without that tree. Without the tree they are stepped on and bruised, eventually turning to an unsightly dried brown color. The leaves are full of life when connected to their source, embracing many colors and shapes collected by tree enthusiasts. Leaves are nothing without connection to a tree, but a tree without its leaves is respected. The solitary bare tree stands tall on the hill as its branches twist in different directions. Leaves, though, are everywhere. They are a hassle to rake and get out of our sight. Yet trees are preserved. They nurture life, provide oxygen for us, and make great furniture. What good is a leaf?
Om Bhaskar (Honig 1B)
Cities freak me out. Everyone’s walking on top of each other, and God forbid you bump into them while they’re in a hurry. There’s a chance you’ll see some poor guy in matted clothes on the sidewalk, begging for the tiniest amount of change. You’ll just move on ahead, but the one time you look him in the eye you can’t help but donate something. Empathy is inherent in all of us, after all. To be honest though, that’s part of the reason why I could never live in a city. There’s too much visible suffering and social degradation. My town and my school are different, though. At least I’d like to think that.
When I walk outside the red brick campus, I can see hills lathered with trees in the distance. At this time of fall, a city would have no visible change. Not those forests though. The trees are grayed out with the leaves all having fallen to the ground days ago. Only a few trees remained with their leaves, indecent fools unable to follow protocol. I think those trees are embarrassed, being so behind the rest of their peers in something. I know myself, and many others in this school would be.
As you continue through the grounds, you see trees that were not native to these lands. The Lenape never knew what a Cherry Blossom was before it was imported on their, now our, soil. Once again, nature reflects the population, as most of the students here are also immigrants. This is not their native land, but they have made it their home.
While we looked at the trees and cold air filled our nostrils and made our noses look like cherry tomatoes, it happened. A little bird, a tiny, pathetic thing, sat at the base of one of those obelisks of wood. Clearly it was unable to leave, otherwise it would fly away from us like every other avian. There, you get that same feeling you would get from seeing a homeless man at the base of a concrete building in a city. I was able to run away from it temporarily, but not forever. Maybe I was able to keep myself in bliss by staying ignorant. All good things come to an end, I suppose…
Varsha Ilavarasu (Honig 2B)
We go to school, we listen, or not, to our teachers, we do our work, and we go back home. We do it every day, for months, until we’re done. No one has the time to think, truly think about the school and what it meant to us after we’re gone. These trees will stay here until they die, and yet we’ll probably forget about them. They’ll grow their foliage, green, then shed it all the same, red and orange, bare and cold. They’ll do that every day, for months, until they’re done, and yet they’ll stay intertwined. Two completely different trees, connected at their roots, growing up together, shedding their leaves together, dying together. They’ll bask in the sun together, face the cold together, and what will we do? We’ll all leave this school, go our own separate ways, but our roots will stay here. We’ve grown together, learned together, laughed together, and these roots will stay right here. Our leaves may look different, our trunks may grow older, just like these two trees, but our roots are going to stay here. One day, these trees may die, but the memory of them, of us, will never fade.
