The school year is over here, which means sleeping in, swimming, and piles and piles of stuff.
The stuff that’s been in desks and backpacks all year.
The detritus of 4th and 6th grades.

The girls have unpacked broken binders, missing socks, and mighty fine report cards.
They’ve recycled rough drafts and thrown away broken pencils and protractors. 
And they’ve shared artwork and stories and poems — I could rent a storage unit there’s so much good stuff.
I mean, I’m biased. But seriously.

For example.
A concrete poem written by Small One:

Here are the words, in case you’re having a hard time making them out, due to the  Evil Eye and all:

Trouble