The view from the Meade Mountain summit

Hannah French, Writer

It’s summer,

You watch as the trees whip by your eyes.

There are  huge semis

That make you feel so small 

In your little car. 


You look in to the nature

That passes you by.

You think of another time

Your swore you saw those same trees

In your backseat window.


It was summer, but you were a little younger.

All four windows rolled down,

Your hair blowing in the wind.

You screaming all the words

To Call Me Maybe.


Then all those memories flood back to you.

The times you went to great escape,

Or the time you threw a 

Fast food toy out the window,

Wondering what would happen and where it would go.


All the long car rides

That you couldn’t stand,

With the constant ‘Are we there yet?

Are we there yet?’s.


And then the car slams to a stop.

You bounce back to the present.

And you think,



In three months I am a senior.

In 5 months, high school fall season,


In 8 months, high school winter season,


In 11 months, high school spring season,



Then you think the unspeakable.


*In a year, high school is over.*

You leave.

Your childhood is gone.

You’re an adult  on your own.


Suddenly you wish,

you were back in that car, in 2012.