Seventh graders in the Humanities 7 class have free-choice "independent writing" every week. Eleanor has agreed to share this lovely piece on the blog.
Smooth stones dotted the shoreline as the golden sun settled in its resting place behind the mountains. The sound of water gently lapping onto the shore drifted by the slate gray stone house. The taste of fresh peach pie lingered in her mouth and she smelled the welcoming musty smell of the old house. She was home for the summer, home at last. Skipping a stair she bounded up the flight of long endless stairs to the tower. Out of breath she leaned on the forest green railing she had painted a decade ago with her mom. Sitting down on the pale sofa she grabbed the first book that came to her and opened to the first page. A flutter of colors shapes and objects flashed past her eyes. Nothing had changed not even the books.
A bird floated gaily by the large glass window on the other side of the room. A writing table and chair sat in a corner with papers discarded on it. Bookshelves lined the walls and the colorful spins gave the room light. There was a soft baby blue rug on the floor that wasn't too noticeable, but that is how it should be. Kate had poured her feeling her knowledge and her pride into this room; it was good to be back and soon the room would be soaking up more of her thoughts. Kate set the book down and stood up. Walking over to the table she sifted through the papers; finding what she was looking for she unfolded the paper and fixed blue eyes on the print. The paper held the dates and times for the mail run the summer before but since it was the same schedule every year, so to save paper, Kate kept only one. Scrolling her finger down the list she stopped and smiled. Every June on Fridays a message came from her grandfather giving a list of books to read over the summer. Most of them Kate had in her library but some she had delivered to her. Learning wizardry was a tough skill and although Kate loved magic it was sometimes too hard.
Deciding it would be nice to get outside for she had been in the car for five hours she tumbled down the stairs and out the door. Kate’s grandfather owned the property but he rarely came to visit it; instead it served as a summer home for Kate and her mother. Her father died when she was two. Descending down to the vast beach Kate let the noises and sun soak into her, digging her toes into the warm yellow sand. Kate sat down and observed. Water slowly creeped up and tickled her toes. The warm smooth feeling of the ocean buried itself back into her brain.