Artist Spotlight: Anonymous


Short Story: Listen to the Trees

When I was a kid I was told many stories by my great grandmother who spent her senior years
in the forests of Washington.
She always told me, “The forests are filled with secrets, listen to the trees whisper.”
I never knew what she meant until I moved out there after my college graduation from UCSD.
I bought a property next to hers, Hillsbury Rd.
Right off the freeway exit to the long forest drive that leads to nowhere.
Not many people lived out here. It was cold and rainy almost all year round.
As I got settled in and met the very few locals next to my cabin I spent most of my time out
exploring and enjoying the new scenery.
I was used to the beach and crowded areas back in California so it was nice to have a change.
Every morning I would go out on my porch with my vanilla roast coffee, sit on my grandfather’s
rocking chair and gaze out as far as I can see because of the heavy thick grey fog.
This had become my daily routine for the past couple months.
Every day I repeat the same thing.
One morning, writing in my journal out on my porch, it was a very windy day.
I thought back to the stories my grandmother had told me. I remembered one so vividly I can
almost recall the exact spot I envisioned it took place.
Swaying branches cracked as the howling of wind grew louder and the leaves on the ground
went in circular motions.
I pictured my grandmother here with me retelling my favorite story about the trees.
I used to think she was crazy when she got to this story because trees can’t talk. I almost
spooked myself thinking about it.
These forests are no joke. Anything can be out there.
Again, I closed my eyes and pictured my young self on my grandmother’s lap.
I felt a soft breeze and then the whispers of her words “The forests are filled with secrets, listen
to the trees whisper.”
I opened my eyes looking out into the fog again.
I smiled and knew my grandmother was here.

Poem: Happiness comes in Waves

As for now I lie here, white sand softly brushing through my fingers as the last glimpse of the
sun shows its vibrant pastel colors.
In this moment I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
Not home, where my mother no longer wants me, not school where all I can think about is
leaving, and definitely not where i’m surrounded by people who don’t want me
I just want to be alone.
The long beaches stretching down the islands of my home, Hawaii, Is my happy place.
I feel content and at ease whenever I come here to get my mind off of the terrible things this
world has to offer.
I try to “be normal” and fit in with the other locals but I always find myself at the same spot.
The beach in Honolulu.
In this moment I am happy.