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The View OutsideCaitlin ClaytonThe playful wind dances quietly through the trees,whispering. It echoes in my ears, yearning for me tohear its story. The wind spreads the sunshine over us,giving a yellow tint to the day. It breezes through ourwayward hair, teasing us.When all is quiet, the wind seems to blow wordsback in my throat, showing me that, for a time, speakingis forbidden. I relish the almost perfect silence. Itprovides a time for my mind to settle and my thoughtsslip away: a spot of solace in a busy day.A voice cuts through to my small world, soundingsharp & foreign to my ears. On instinct, my voicecalls in reply, the action feeling strange. The silence isbroken, we must return to the world of noise, patientlywaiting for the next spot of relief.Ash in a StoveChristian CraigLines of age on a tired face step out of their apartment every morningTo see the same street staring back at themThey go through their dayWith words backed by fire in the head they decorateBut when the lines stretch to open a soft-spoken mouthSpeech is mumbled and words fall out likeAsh blown out of a stoveTo be swept into a corner by a custodianTired of pushing his broomAnd the man with lines on his tired face goes homeTo have his thoughts burn holesThrough his paper thin desireTo wake up again andHave his passion cleaned awayBy someone who doesn’t careHe will wake again anywayPool Table HoundsDylan FordA dimly lit bar.Smoke and belligerent barks fill the room.Bulldog lines up his cue,Eager to shoot.His basset hound side-kick gazes with franticadmiration through eye-glasses.Cocker Spaniel, in bowler and bow-tie, stops on hisway to the bathroom.German Shepherd, gets ready to guzzle another frostypint.Border Collie, takes another puff on a cigar, andpatiently awaits victory.Great Dane, smirks, chews his pipe.Bulldog, grunts “8 bail corner pocket.”A collision of pool balls and the game is decided.Both balls disappear into the pocket.Sinking beneath the felt green horizon.Shoes Sweet ShoesKatie PriddyYou can tell a lot about a person by their shoes. Men rarelyhave more than five pairs of shoes—just the essentials: tennisshoes, mowing shoes, dress shoes, and a couple pairs of sandals.On the other hand, for women, shoes are a statement. Shoes arethe reason behind wasting away an afternoon in the mall. Towomen, shoes can be an addiction.I have 28 pairs of shoes and Iʼve probably only worn half ofthem once or twice. How can I answer which shoe I would be? Ihave 28 pairs of shoes because I canʼt limit myself to one pair, oreven a couple.If my shoes could talk, each one would tell a different story. Myleather, knee-high boots could not tell you of summertime; myrunning shoes could not tell you of dances, concerts, or partiesand none of my three dollar flip-flops could remember snow-ballfights or soccer games. My shoes show my changing taste, myadaptability, my personality, and my life. To pin it down, I am themoccasin, flip-flop, vintage pump, furry snow boot, ballet flat,rubber Croc, black leather boot, running shoe, blue suede sneaker,brown clog, hot pink high heel, 3-inch prom heel, rain boot, andsoccer cleat. I am that shoe.afterglow 35