On my ninth birthday, my Grandpa Bill gifted me a copy of The Little Prince. I remember the cover with the blonde boy who stood amongst the stars, but I didn’t read the story until recently, when Bill sent a letter that reminded me of the image.
Nearly all seventeen species of penguins are intensely colonial, gathering in “great teeming masses” to court one another. To win a female’s affection, males swing their heads side to side or raise their flippers or throw their beaks to the sky to carol their best trills and squawks. Some gentoo ...
My mother used to give my sister and me glass hearts. The ritual was based on the book The Kissing Hand—the story of Chester Raccoon, who is terrified to start kindergarten. Throughout the story, his mother reassures him of the wonderful things he will discover at school, like friends, toys, and books. ...
My sister is a forest dweller. She leads a pastoral existence—the trees are her companions and the stars her teachers. At Colby College in Waterville, Maine, the rustic wind nudges time forward. The woods’ many creatures waylay adventure-hungry students skipping astray in the hills, nibbling at ...
Chairlifts have always scared me. I remember when I had to board one for the first time, swiveling my skis atop the faded red line dyed into the ice below me as I waited for the seat. I looked back over my right shoulder, anxious to get the timing right. The chair was coming—my chance. I was ready. ...
I am a gentle giant on stilts as I stumble in my heels across the wooden floors of my kitchen. He’s already in the car, as he always is. I shove a Ziploc pouch of apple wedges into my oversized and overstuffed tote bag and flounder out the garage door.
I saw this TikTok that said the trip from college back to your hometown is like a “portal between two different worlds.” To me, flying from Brown back home to San Diego, the plane feels like a portal between two different lives. I peer over the sleeping bodies of my fellow passengers out the window ...
At YogaSix, the breath is our Bible. Follow it, and you will find your way. Interestingly enough, though, my body doesn't like to exhale fully. There’s comfort in the tiny reservoir of air I stow away in my lungs—always there, just in case. Yet I exhale slightly and surrender a bit more to ...
Brown’s annual Family Weekend is an opportunity to give parents “a small taste of the intellectual and cultural vitality of [their] student’s home away from home.”
The author explores their changing relationship to self-harm as they move from high school to college.
Solutions by The State News
