Atrium Magazine

Dylan looks out the window in the main office of the Etoniah Creek State Forest in Florahome, Fla., Friday, Sept. 26, 2025. After graduating from the University of Florida, he found freedom in managing the forest. “I just hug trees all day,” Dylan says. (Alissa Gary/Atrium Magazine) This story is from Atrium’s Spring 2026 magazine, which released April 2026. On a clear September morning, Dylan Fay steps out of his truck and onto a thicket of wild flora.

Linda Kranert shakes a turtle shell rattle part of one of the museum’s exhibits of Native American history in Chattahoochee, Fla., Tuesday, Oct. 14, 2025. (Delia Rose Sauer/Atrium Magazine) This story is from Atrium’s Spring 2026 magazine, which released April 2026. Linda Kranert remembers the gentle sound of critters scurrying off in unseen directions as she stood within the mossed-over threshold of a building all but reclaimed by nature.

This story is from Atrium’s Spring 2026 magazine, which released April 2026. “Did you spill any secrets when you got your wisdom teeth out?” I hit send before hiding my phone between my textbook and my laptop. I’m 16, sitting on the kitchen counter and staring at my AP Chemistry homework. My mother lies in her bedroom a few feet away. I can’t focus; I’m getting my wisdom teeth out tomorrow. “I can’t remember, why?” my friend replies.

Hollow Echoes and Southern Magnolia May 15, 2026 | poems by Catalina Martinez-Wittinghan illustrations by Priscilla Oliveira design by Emma Grace Henne This story is from Atrium’s Spring 2026 magazine, which released April 2026. Catalina Martinez-Wittinghan

Staff Sgt. Luther E. Smith Jr. sent letters to his mother in Jacksonville, Fla., dated Aug. 16, 1944. (Pristine Thai/Atrium Magazine) This story is from Atrium’s Spring 2026 magazine, which released April 2026. In March 1942, Luther Edward Smith Jr. packed his bags, said goodbye to his parents and shipped off to join the war. The United States entered World War II three months earlier, and the teenage Jacksonville native figured he’d be drafted.

Pristine Thai stands in the shallow tide and watches a flock of flying gulls at Fort Island Gulf Beach, Fla., Wednesday, Oct. 29, 2025 (Alissa Gary/Atrium Magazine) This story is from Atrium’s Spring 2026 magazine, which released April 2026. My mother never liked the beach. Chaotic, she’d complain, as a woman who loved order above all else. Too full of noisy people and clinging sand and the salt-laden stench of the ocean.

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The Raiders battle through the rain on gameday at the Hal Brady Recreation Complex in Alachua, Fla., Saturday, Nov. 6, 2025. (Delia Rose Sauer/Atrium Magazine) March 27, 2026 | story by Sam Zimmermann photos by Sam Zimmermann and Delia Rose Sauer The soft green grass at the Hal Brady Recreation Complex bends under Kayson Turner’s cleats. His ivory helmet reads “Raiders” in crimson cursive. Kayson’s brown eyes narrow on the football’s white laces.

Mary Ann Clawson paints a bold landscape live at the Highwayman Gallery in Vero Beach, Florida, Saturday, Oct. 4, 2025. (Tarryn Nichols/Atrium Magazine) March 27, 2026 | story by Tarryn Nichols photos by Tarryn Nichols and Jack Vincent Mary Ann Clawson peered through a hole in a wooden crate at migrant workers milling about the Immokalee grove. She pressed her face, hot and sticky-sweet from eating oranges all day, against the bright gap to get a better view.

A champion live oak, nicknamed Grandpa, grows in Alachua County, Fla., Saturday, Nov. 8, 2025. (Catalina Martinez-Wittingham/Atrium Magazine) Dave and Liz Wilson never expected to become the caretakers of the largest live oak in Florida. When they retired from North Carolina to an area northwest of Gainesville in 2021, they met Grandpa for the first time. Rising out of the soft, green earth, its rough, twisting trunks swirl north, south, east and west.