Mrs. Estrada said,

    Go home and write

    a page tonight.

    And let that page come out of you--

    Then, it will be true.

Where shall I begin?

I am fifteen years old and live in a peaceful town called

Wilmington, Massachusetts.

My house sits in a quiet neighborhood, where the loudest noise comes from

The next store neighbor’s dog howling at dawn. 

The warm, green color of my home is like a lily pad that softly floats in the water.

When I look outside, most of the houses resemble each other,

The only thing that is different is the story told inside each one. 

My eyes gaze out the car window as we drive to my

Grandparent’s home in Gloucester.

The warm, cozy cottage sits on a waterfront view, 

Built by my great grandfather.

We make our way on the highway, past the harbor, over the dirt bridge,

To the wood dock where I write this page: 

There is so much to write as my thoughts fly free. 

The ocean breeze causes the trees to dance 

And the boats rock from side to side. 

My great grandmother would tell me stories about

The island and show me many pictures.

Over the years, the swampy green land would fill

Up with houses one by one.

From the dock I would spot her looking outward,

Holding her tiny, blue binoculars up to her eyes. 

She was like a hawk, 

Always watching the boats go by. 

For all I know, I love looking for bright blue and green sea glass.

Driving the boat down the river and laying in the sun. 

The ocean allows me to feel free and experience adventure.

Our boat heads forward,

 Gliding like a dolphin riding the waves.

The clouds inch closer as if I could reach out and grab them.

I am a compass navigating at sea.

Everyone has their own path,

Discovering new obstacles each and every day. 

I learn to do what is best for me and take risks along the way. 

After All, this is my page on my journey.