Paint and poem -- One week in bog class, we decided to make art and poetry. We learned about free-verse poetry and played around with watercolors.

As the clouds get very dark
They cover up the sun making the bog look dreary.
Rain starts to pitter-patter on the water and
The animals go back to their dens.
The lightening flashes and the thunder roars.
It is a wet day in the bog.

The spring trees stand still in the wind with droplets of melted snow streaming down the bark.The grass slowly begins to slurp up the extra water left in little puddles that soon enough will be absorbed into the roots and soil.The animals get ready for their young while munching on the new sprouted grass.The deer come from their hiding places and guide their big bellies to meadows where they plan to have their young.

A breeze tinged with veins of cold ruffles colored leaves high up in the branches. On spider legs, the wind creeps over the bog spinning its silky web through everything. The birds, fluffing their feathers against the chill, bob on little rushes that whisper to each other. Water ripples in the pitcher plants, and seeds of milkweed with white feathery tufts, float over the quietness of fall.