Writers of the Week from Year 9

Cardrona by Theo Richards

White and fluffy, the snow drifts down as I ski down the mountain, hearing nothing apart from my skis cutting into the snow. The mountain is covered with snow, with rocks dotted here and there like an oil painting. The lift is silent as you move through the sky almost effortlessly. The weather turns from sunny to dark and cloudy. The once-clear contours of the snow are hard to see, so now I have to go slow and be careful so I don't hurt myself. The lifts rock from side to side in the strong winds. At the end of the day, I get a hot chocolate to warm me up, as I am cold to my bones.

Paradise by Ollie Brown

My legs ache. Mud clumps on my feet, making each step heavier. My pack seems to wear eternal marks into my shoulders. I’m ready to give up, not sure I can keep going any longer.

Then I turn the corner.

Sunlight ricochets off snow-capped peaks, momentarily dazing me. Trees march down the ridge into forested valleys on either side. A stream cascades in golden droplets down the rocks.

The mountain air is sweet on my tongue. The sound of wind between the rocks is broken only by the occasional chirp of a rock wren or the proud cry of a kea soaring through the sky.

It’s pure nature, and it’s paradise.

A Perfect Day by James Henshaw

Boom, crash—the constant background noise of the waves, faintly heard while on top of the hills. A slight wind rocks the occasional tree, gently brushing the tall grass against your legs. The faint taste of salty water sits in your mouth, and the smell of a beach barbecue infiltrates your nose. Sunlight stays until 9:30, and the plastic cricket wickets are left out on the lawn as the evening showers pour in. The sound of the rain on the roof reverberates through the house as you’re tucked up in bed, warm and snug, filled with pavlova, ham, and trifle, waiting for the next day, fast asleep.

Brighton Beach by Fahd Ahmadi

Sand dunes, cold water, and hot sun. It’s a bit far from my house, but it is so worth it. The blue sky glows, and the sun burns bright. The rocks surrounding it stretch high and mighty. We squirm into our wetsuits and dive straight in. It takes time to dunk, but eventually, the further you go, the more the waves smack right into you. You can smell the salty seaweed. You hear the seagulls squawking above and taste the sickly salty water as it goes into your mouth. The hot sand runs through your fingers and warms up your body. Dry off with a towel and rip open a bag of chips. Eat them up and head straight back in. Watery grey sand on your toes. Pack up, shower quickly, change, and head home.

Copland Hot Pools by Tarn Elder

Silty sand rubs against my feet. Hot water calms my weary legs. Mountains surround this place. A clear night above, and a few stars stand out in the sky. The faint smell of sulphur reaches my nose, boiling the hot pools. During the day, they are crowded with people, but for now, we are alone.

A bird chirps from a nearby tree, and a cricket crackles in response. Soon, a chorus of cricket sounds fills the air. A sandfly comes near me, only to touch the hot water and perish. These pools are the only haven from their bites. The rocks underfoot are warm, and an occasional bubble stream rises to the surface.

As I get out of the water and dry myself, I realise just how far the 18 kilometres I walked today really were.