“Mirror,” by Astrid Longstreth, 15, of West BoltonYoung Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at [email protected]; (802) 324-9538. Fall is a distinct feeling, made up of a distinct atmospheric recipe — but like all cozy, comforting dishes, there are always a few varied ingredients and combinations to choose from. For some, fall is one part chill in the air, one part pumpkin spice latte; for another, it’s a slice of apple pie and a scary movie. And for this week’s featured poet, Isla Segal of Woodstock, fall is New England’s famous collage of colors, and the very soil covering our roads, hay bales, and (only the best, and ugliest) pumpkins.Tell youIsla Segal, 13, WoodstockTo tell youwhat fall isif you didn’t knowwould be the task of a poet,and even my best wordswouldn’t tell you,really.I could tell you what it’s liketo look up at the hillsthat are half orange-red-yellow,a quarter bare, brown branches,a quarter green pine treesthat will weather even the three-foot snowstormthat will be here in February.I could explain the leavesthat scatter across the dirt roads,and that’s before I even talk about the different kinds of dirt roads(the touristsin their beige with 20 million Instagram photosDon’t understand the differencebetween winding graveland the straight, smooth roadswe just call dirt).I could say that the leaves curve in waysthat they only could with thin, little veins like that,and I’d say how they’re red on the edgesand yellow-brown on the inside.I could talk about the wrapped hay bales,how they look white from far away,but when you’re perched on top of onewith your best friend,you can tell that it’s muddy, too.I’d talk about how the imperfect pumpkinsare the best of all,the ones that are lumpy rectangles,with dirt coating the bottomand lopsided tops.But none of my words could tell youabout this thingthat is my every-day,that I don’t think aboutbut that’s there,in more than a million wordsand a million pictures.It’s about you and how you feel it,and I couldn’t say how,but I love fall for the dirt(roads,on pumpkins,in the hay,and everywhere else),and all its other imperfections.Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘Tell you’.