Horizon Air

Looking at the ranges of blue spread out around the horizon. Saw water run against the sand, the salty air and brightly lit sun. An empty beach, the perfect time to enjoy the water under the sun. The ocean breeze which I haven’t felt in a long time could bring back the colors that I haven’t seen in a while. It would make me feel healthier, having the cold water tickle my skin as I sit on the rough sand. Inhaling the salty yet refreshing air around me. If only I could run into the water right now

clouds in the lonely sky. A few airplanes whizzed by a while back at about five minute intervals, but the now-still sky casts a silence as enthusiasm for conversations momentarily ebb away. A pungent smell of seared meat and garlic drifts through the air, flooded with the smoky aroma of hot dogs and burgers. Kids jump up and down as teens and adults, including my brother and my parents, pull out their smartphones and cameras to angle them towards the night sky. People lie down on yoga mats to gaze up

The water lapped against the side of the lifeboat and salt spray stung Pierce’s face. He wiped a ragged sleeve across his face and irritated eyes and squinted toward the horizon. In every direction the ocean stretched, blinding with sun-glare. I should have just sunk with the ship, he thought. Or just roll out of the boat now. Will starving to death be any better? Lifting the canteen to his lips, he poured warm water onto his parched tongue and then smacked out the very last drop. With a grimace

ocean in awe of the beautiful sight, a sudden gust of wind blew past me. Each individual strand of my hair crossed my face, the sun played peek-a-boo as it made its appearance just above the horizon, as if it were too scared to show its’ beautiful light. The smell of the sea filled my nose as I took in the fresh air. The sand was filled with corals, with a collection of many sea shells, all of which had their own uniqueness in shape, size and color; however, the sand felt like a bed full of soft comforters

grieving. Along the way fallen timber accompanied thickets of weeds. A lazy mist hazed my vision, making the horizon seem like one from a story book. The area was imperturbable, as if it was keeping a secret hidden deep within itself. Resting underneath the shade of the trees, I found myself appreciating the scent of pine needles; the ambiance of Christmas. Encompassed by the thick heavy air, I watched as a single sparrow fluttered high above the emerald forest. A few feet next to me an eager chipmunk

On the southeastern side of Anaheim, between State College Blvd. and Vermont Ave. lies what someone would call “a simple old park who no one visits”, Boysen Park. On the north side of the park the entrance can be found. Along with the location of the elementary school, Theodore Roosevelt on the northeastern side of the park. In the middle-eastern side of the park there is a large baseball field and two smaller fields on the opposite side of it. On the southeastern part of the park the Anaheim Tennis

and buses boomed through my ears. The sun glowed gently over the horizon as the blast of warm breeze diffused over my body. The sun dipped through the sky as it replaced its yellow stains into black, dusky shades of ink. The crowd imperceptibly disappeared as I changed my way to the other side of the street. As the sun settled down; desolate, pure blackness began to sneak in. The blanket of darkness positioned itself over the horizon. Blocks of huge, angry, smoky clouds emerged over the waxy sky.

Sax Impey is a Cornish artist, who works out of the Porthmeor studios overlooking the beach, St Ives. Born in Penzance and trained in Newport, Wales where he studied . The majority of his work is inspired by the sea. Continuing the tradition set in motion by Ben Nicholson, Patrick Heron and other recognized Cornish artists. Alongside Francis Bacon as well. His work is drawn from his own first hand experiences with the ocean and its relentless energy and overwhelming power and its seeming endlessness

Croatia. Summer 2015. I am sitting in the back of a stranger’s car on the way to a cemetery as a little girl in a yellow tutu reaches into her white sparkly purse on the seat between us and pulls out a seemingly endless group of bobble head pets. We don’t speak each other’s language so we communicate through hand signals while she tries to teach me the Croatian alphabet. She laughs at my funny pronunciation, and I smile at her enthusiasm for spelling every passing sign. I was traveling through Eastern

Over the years, the city of Roswell has experienced many minor and drastic changes both inside and outside of school. With a new generation comes a new city. Things that were once landmarks of Roswell are now faint memories. Many existed so many years ago that the underclassmen have no recollection of the hidden gems in Roswell’s past. As the senior class nears graduation, many are making an extra effort to embrace their hometown. Let’s take a trip down memory lane and remember some of the greatest