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Hastings Middle School
Hastings Middle School, Upper Arlington, Ohio
Teacher: Barbara Hirsch
Welcome to
Hastings Middle School. Come join our eighth grade English class as we go outside to
explore and write about our school's surroundings. We march through the blue door to find
a peaceful garden awaiting us. Bricks line the asphalt walkway, which leads to the
butterfly garden. It has an ancient gnarled tree in the center with a cold
stone bench
beside it. A few leaves still left on the bare tree dangle cautiously by their stems while
the crisp breeze flies across the vast area of grass. The rustling leaves create a collage
of red, brown, and orange. Flashy red berries glow in the warm sunlight. A pinecone falls
from a tree and lightly settles on the ground.
The
leaves crunch and crack under our shoes as we walk toward the football field. The football
field lies in wait for the boys who will later trample on it. Next to our football field
there's a victory bell, made as a memorial for a deceased student from our school. Someone
has left a rose and two silvery balloons as a birthday remembrance. The rose sits
serenely. This golden bell rests peacefully as we gather around, like eager children on
Christmas morning. The shiny bell never rings until we win a game. Everyone writes while
the teacher talks.
Our class moves toward the next area, passing by the empty pool, which tells stories of
a wonderful summer gone by. Its chilling echo hits our ears. Near the swimming pool there
is the discus circle with six slender poles that hold the nets up, but now look like
fingers clawing the sky. 
We march through the parking lot and see cars lined up side by side as if they were an army going into battle. As we walk close to the front of the school, another cool breeze ruffles our hair; but this time we can see the grand splendor of our nation's flag rippling in the wind. The red, white, and blue flag stands alone like a soldier at ease.
Our last stop is the huge Hastings' rock. It sits and guards our school as a lion guards its den. It's time to go back inside our brick school. The door slams as the wind pushes it shut after us. We walk quickly and quietly back to our English classroom, anxious to share our writing with our classmates and teacher.
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