By Clover Skilton
Light filters through the tangle of branches of the fallen tree. The noon-time sun searches as we hide blissfully in the dappled shadows. Leaves that still cling to the branches rustle, whispering their secrets into the slight breeze. Asphalt, cool beneath our hands even in the blaze of noon. Sheltering in the tent made by the bent and broken limbs, we lay on our driveway, under the storm-felled tree, free of our parents and hot sun.
Clover Skilton is a high school junior. They have been writing short creative stories and other works since early childhood, and have always dreamed of sharing their writing as an author. They live in Connecticut with their parents, two cats, and dog, and their sister who just left for college.

This is a lovely poem, Clover. You are very talented. Keep writing!! π
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