Hullet

By: Valeri Lohrman
Wyoming, I think of you always. Your
open prairies, how they sway in the wind
along the turning of the sky, beige grasses
against navy blue atmosphere or purple bighorns.
Your geologic wonders, laccolithic buttes
and hotspots, your sparse towns and
friendly rest stops, the way you feel like home
even when you’re farthest from it. I watch
old westerns and sing about casper and
dream of ten sleep and I wish myself back
at the ponderosa cafe in hulett or to that sunset
northward from your southern brother,
where the laramie mountains sat against
the orange sky like sentences, written
in cursive and in blue ink, to be studied
and remembered and repeated as you.

***
valeri lohrman is a senior Creative Writing major and songwriter
from southern New Jersey. Traveling and writing about places are what
make up the left centricle of her heart. She travelled to New Zealand for her
GO trip, and it changed her life.

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Prose

If you ask me about my trip to south africa
helen savidge, 2018
south africa

pushing boundaries
kes baker, 2018
south africa

the dip
matt dooley, 2018
south africa

an essay about beauty & the philippines
chelsea barner, 2017
philippines

finding the wild
helen savidge, 2018
south africa

rainbows
keri brady-benzing, 2018
ireland

issue 3, 2017

Enoshima Island

By: Remy Perez

Enoshima Island.JPG

***
remy perez is a graphic design major from Danville, Pennsylvania,
who moved up from Miami when she was six years old. Aside from graphic
design, she enjoys engaging in fine arts, photography, music, and video
games. Remy loves to travel and has greatly enjoyed her time abroad in Tokyo
this past summer and her foreign exchange to Finland prior to college.
She hopes to travel more while still pursuing her passions in language,
travel, and the arts.

The Stationmaster’s Lodge, February

By: Morgan Macvaugh
I know where the end of the world is. It lies in Stromeferry, at
the foot of a house, by a loch that drinks in the night and leaves
it cold. Mountains, white-capped with snow, but black with
stars, circle it, leaning in to hear the voices seeping past stone
walls.
Protected, my back nearly touching the woodstove, I sit on the
hearth, watching as the ten of us young gather around the gray
men. One with a guitar, the other, our guide, asking him to play.
He grumbles good-naturedly, tugging at the strings and twisting
the knobs until they sing in key.
“A Song for Ireland,” says our guide. His voice is thick with the
moorlands, rising up into the high. He looks to us, eyes glinting
firelight. “You haven’t eard anything til you’ve eard him sing it.
The most beautiful thing.” He says beautiful like bee-U-tiful, like
it’s something to stop stare at and ponder.
The man with the guitar scoffs, but finishes tuning, and parts his
lips. The voice that comes out is slightly rough with age and wrin
-kles, but the tune is silky, and weaves through the couches and
chairs and something in the moment stills us. When he finishes,
the moment is broken, and my youth resurfaces with the others in
loud claps and whistles. The guitar man slips a fleeting smile as
the sound dances and clatters along the wooden floor. Runs a cal
-loused hand through his gray mane. “Well now. A song fer a song.
Who’s got one?”
I blink. The others call out for “Hotel California,” “Brown Eyed
Girl.” “Can you play that?” a girl asks.
“I can play anything if you gif me the tune.”
More songs called out, tunes by Billy Joel, Coldplay. “Rivers
and Roads.” And I’m not sure where it comes from, but then the
words are past my lips. “You know, ‘The Parting Glass’?” And
the guitar man stops and pins me with eyes so pale I think for a
moment he’s blind.
“What did you say?”
The words feel heavy and pointed and the room goes silent. My
cheeks are fire. “’The Parting Glass,’” I ask, “Do you know that
old Irish song?”
“Strangest thing,” he tells me softly, slowly, like thinking aloud.
A smile’s shadow imprinted on his weathered face. “I was listenin
to that on the way o’er.”
And our guide looks between the both of us and brushes his chin
with a slow hand. “Aye, that is strange.”
The man with the guitar sits up in the couch, bends over his in
-strument. “I’ll play it, but you ave to sing it.”
“No, I… Really, I can’t—,” but his eyes are firm and his fingers
are curled over the strings.
“A song fer a song.”
And he plays the first chord and time’s not stopping, so my voice
emerges from my throat and tiptoes around the room, a high, dis
-used thing. His strings call it forward. The fire crackles behind us.
And it seems there is no more breathing; the world ends here.

***
morgan macvaugh is a junior Creative Writing major. She is currently
surrounded by Highland Coos in Scotland, and loving every minute of it.
She would like to give a huge thank you to her family, especially Mac, for
always being encouraging.

Photos: Asia and Oceania

Click on the photos to enlarge them.
Photos from Europe and Africa

Ethan Eastwood, 2016
Photo from China

The Earth God Festival

A Macanese Celebration of the Earth God


Arden Lee, 2017
Photos from Australia


MaeLynne Connolly,
2016 Photos from China


Afi Ahama, 2017
Photos from New Zealand

What is your definition of good life? Is it traveling to see the world? Is it becoming a philanthropist? Is it walking down on Wall Street every morning? Based on your current resources, with your definition of good life, what can you do today to make you feel as though you’re already living that life? Think about ways you can start living or enjoying your ideal life today. Life is too short to be dreaming, so start setting goals, planning, and living.


Hasana Chaudry, 2017
Photos from Isreal and Palenstine

Photos: Europe and Africa

Click on the photos to enlarge them.
Photos from Asia and Oceania

Sam Sekora, 2017
Photos from the Czech Republic


Megan Rudloff, 2017
Photos from Cyprus, Greece, Italy


Essy S. Dean, 2016
Photos from England


Katy Griffith, 2016
Photos from England, Rome, and Ireland


Kelsey Hails, 2016
Photos from France


Danielle Boyd, 2016
Photos from Spain, France, Switzerland, Italy, Morocco, Turkey


Patrick Bolger, 2017
Photo from Spain

image1


K.C. Schweizer, 2016
Photos from Spain and Morocco


Sarah Dorko, 2017
Photos from Scotland and France


Jess Mitchell, 2017
Photos from Italy


Gwendolyn Bodner, 2016
Photos from Austria


Jess Deibert, 2017 Photos from South Africa