Madeleine McIlheran

Each of these cities amazed me in unique way; the sunshine in lively Marrakech, the stunning view of Fes at night, and Casablanca's Mauresque architecture. But Chefchaouen was the city that made the many frustrations, wild taxi rides, and never ending bus voyages worthwhile: Marrakech Marrakech Garden of Yves Saint Laurent Garden of Yves Saint Laurent Breakfast in Fes Chefchaoen When I caught my first glimpse of Chefchaouen against the mountains, I felt like a six year-old on Christmas morning who had spotted a giant box with their name on the tag. Walking down the winding blue streets that imitated streams, I could hear French, Arabic and Spanish spoken. The blue maze-like medina sector was lined with the dichotomous Spanish and Moorish architecture. These bright blue walls symbolize the both the sky and heaven. Now that I have returned to France, I often see grey skies and it seems to be an unspoken rule to wear nothing bu

In Jardin du Mail- I used to walk here to read, but now I find myself going home the long way so I can stop by the fountain and clear my mind. It seems as if this boy of around 9 years old had the same idea, except he brought a toy boat instead of a book.

Bonjour à tous, Much has changed, mostly due to the fact that I am now living in Angers, France.  I will keep this brief- just know that I've had many wonderful conversations with people from an array of backgrounds, and plenty of time to myself. I feel as if I can now picture my future more clearly than ever before.  I am now an aunt, I look forward to meeting my niece Eloise this summer.  This April, I will be a published writer! Two of my pieces have been selected for publication. Be sure to buy a copy of the Sorin Oak Review 2016. ~To all who have prodded me into posting more frequently, thank you. I have decided to take your advice.  -Madeleine xo

The generation made only of skin, bones, and that which can be injected into the first So that we can make believe even after we’ve kissed adolescence goodbye We can play pretend Pretend that our reality is what we wish it were Though we should be holding back a bitter, abrasive laugh Should be finding it hilarious How we make believe our reality is one thing But through our actions we unceasingly choose to let our circumstances choose the shape and size of our world How we act as though it is only logical that our past should define our present But our present define our future? “You just don’t understand” As long as we aren’t drowning, we’ll let the ebb and flow of mundane living continue to wash over us, coming in, Now out, Rocking us gently back and forth Now suffocating Now letting us up to gasp for air A lullaby so patient, so constant We lose consciousness to the fact That we’re slowly drowning But so long as death doesn’t come before Friday,

Still a beauty Yet I know that your lifeline has been cut That though you still breathe You already belong to death You aren’t yet faded But you are fading And Time- he soon will leave your side As you will in turn leave us We who are now realizing Between womb and tomb We came from earth Then to work the earth Until we are buried in our precious earth Now realizing that as we grow older Our time is constantly growing smaller We are all slowly dying Arriving on hospital beds Then leaving how we came Frail, helpless, afraid On a hospital bed.

I saw her hair first. Long, silver, hanging in waves put into motion by God. I couldn’t have guessed what her face should look like, but when I saw it looking back over her shoulder, that smile and pointed nose seemed more natural than a sunrise in the morning. The crinkles next to her eyes had an effect opposite opposite of Time’s intention when that patient devil began slowly creating them.  Instead of suggesting her years, they attributed to giving her profile a look of childish mischief- a spark that is stomped out by adult fears (being responsible we call it) by the time most of us can no longer be called children.  Those wrinkles, those crinkles shad owed and hid her years, with the help of the light in her eye reflected, by the shining silver waves that adorned her face and hung down her back like the cape of a queen.