The Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of young writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on the site each week. youngwritersproject.orgIt is a free, interactive website for young people aged 13-19. To learn more, please go to: youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at [email protected]; (802) 324-9538.

Autumn is a different feeling, consisting of a different atmospheric recipe; But like all cozy, comforting meals, there are always a few different ingredients and combinations to choose from. For some, autumn is part cool weather, part pumpkin spice latte; For the other, a slice of apple pie and a horror movie. And for this week’s featured poet, Isla Segal of Woodstock, autumn is New England’s famous collage of colors and dirt, hay bales, and (only the best and ugliest) pumpkins lining our roads.

tell you

Isla Segal, 13, Woodstock

to tell you

what is autumn

if you don’t know

It would be a poet’s duty

and even my best words

I wouldn’t tell you

Really.

I can tell you what it’s like

to look at the hills

half of which is orange-red-yellow,

one quarter bare, brown branches,

quarter green pine trees

It will survive even a one meter snowstorm

It will be here in February.

I can explain the leaves

scattered on dirt roads,

and that’s before we talk about the different types of dirt roads

(tourists

Beige with 20 million Instagram photos

I don’t understand the difference

among winding gravel

and straight, smooth roads

we just call it dirt).

I can tell the leaves are curling somehow

They could only do this with thin, small vessels like this,

And I’d say how red the edges are

The inside is yellow-brown.

I can talk about wrapped hay bales.

How white they look from afar,

But when you perch on someone

with your best friend,

You can also tell it’s muddy.

I’d talk about how imperfect pumpkins are

they are best of all,

lumpy rectangular ones,

bottom covered with dirt

and disproportionate tops.

But none of my words could tell you

about this thing

This is my every day

I don’t think about

but there it is,

in over a million words

and a million pictures.

It’s about you and how you feel about it.

and I couldn’t tell how

But I love falling in love with dirt.

(roads,

on pumpkins,

in the haystack,

and everywhere else)

and all other flaws.