Anaheim Union High School - Colonist Yearbook (Anaheim, CA)

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DDQ Q Clw Q0 My BEAUTIFUL ANGELIS NAME VVAS I -ILYUJ EASTER LILY!! M

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LITERARY THE SPIRIT OF THE FLOWERS Something had gone wrong with me on that Hne spring morning-from the very time when I sprang out of bed at 6 o'clock instead of waiting to be dragged out at 7:30. I can still remember how my alarmed mother anxiously examined my tongue, felt my forehead, and failing to diagnose my case, resorted to that infallible remedy that will strike terror to the hearts of all small boys to the end of time-castor oil. By pursuing this martyr-like course, I presumed to take upon myself certain privileges which my conscience Cand parental authorityj denied me on other occasions. To put it baldly, I played hookeyf' Not that I intended to when I started for school-in fact it would never have occurred to me if I had not met the Little Old Man. He was a funny little fellow in his quaint, bright-colored suit-he told me without a qualm that he was several thousands of years old-he didn't remember just how many. And yet he didnlt look old. He seemed to get an intense joy out of wandering around through the meadows and woods, and incidentally invited me to accompany him. I demurred at first, but it was no use-I followed him in the end. VVe walked for miles and miles, it seemed to me, before we sat down to rest in a cool, shady spot beside a small tinkling stream. I must have gone to sleep, for I can account for it in no other way-for the strange sight I saw, I mean. I lost sight of the little man, and soon forgot all about him-for seated on the ground at my feet, and peering at me through a mass of green foliage were three of the prettiest little girls I had ever seen. Now, I had no use for girls-in fact, I was accustomed to depart in some haste upon the discovery of the presence of one of this species. But these were different. They looked at me through huge golden eyes, and to my amazement I discovered that they had beautiful purple wings! My next thought was that they were angels, but who ever heard of angels with purple wings? Angels have white wings, of course, I said to myself. Then what were they? Ah! I had it! Fairies! VVhat a fortunate thought. I wondered if they could talk. YVhat are your names ? I asked, by way of breaking the ice. Violet, whispered all three simultaneously, to my intense surprise. To be sure, they looked exactly alike, but why any mother should name all three of her triplets the same name was beyond my comprehension. I started to question them, but they hung their heads bashfully and would not answer me. I was in a quan- dary for a moment. Then my boyish common sense came to my aid, and I passed on. How silly it was of that little old man, I reflected, to bring me out here and leave me. I told myself I was going back to school and behave myself. Then I saw the real angel. She was very tall, and dressed all in white with long golden hair. She possessed a pure, spiritual face the like of which I had never sgen. She didnlt look shy like the fairies. but looked at me kindly and smiled. I wondered if angels had names. My name is Lily, she said, answering my very thought. I 19 I

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She must be an American angelf' I thought to myself. A girl named Lily lived near us. XYe talked for a long time together. She said she and her sisters lived for only a short time in the spring, but that for all its shortness, her life was always happy, because she knew the secret of true happinessgpure thoughts and the habit of giving joy to others. I didn't understand her meaning at the time, but I have thought about it many times since. I don't just remember how we parted. She promised to see me again the next spring, and I recall wondering how she could see me again if she must die that very season. In a rather solemn mood I went on, leaving the shady wood far behind, and pausing upon the edge of a sunny meadow. I wondered if I would meet any more fairies. I wasn't surprised, therefore, when I saw what I inelegantly classed as a whole flock of them flying toward me. They were the daintiest creatures I had ever seen, all in pink, with yellow curls. They were very friendly, and seemed to like me. I never have heard anybody chatter as they could. My old fear of the gentle sex almost overcame me for a moment, but the thought of my previous experience revived me. As I had done in the other cases, I inquired their names. Rosef' chorused the delicate little beings. I was now quite used to the idea of having so many girls with the same name. I decided that all fairies who looked alike were named alike. Having thus struck up an acquaintance, I ventured to ask other questions. They informed me that they were wild creatures, but that they had cousins in the city who had attained the height of refinement. I didn't grasp their meaning-then. Then came my disillusionment. They asked me to play with them, and started a game of tag. The airy little figures were everywhere at once. In vain I chased them. Always they escaped me, their pretty pink robes fluttering saucily in the breeze. Finally one merry sprite perched upon a bush and viewed me tantalizingly. I made a frantic leap for her and then something happened-I knew not what. I let forth a lusty yell. VVhen I next came to myself I was sitting on the grass viewing a bleeding finger. She must have bitten me, I said to myself. A hearty chuckle near at hand caused me to turn around. I beheld the little old man of that morning. That will teach you not to fool with wild rosesf' said my unsympathetic advisor. 'Twasn't a wild rose. 'Twas a fairy named Rose. She bit me.'l Then the truth dawned on me, as I looked up and saw the rose-bushes growing nearby. I had bene playing with the spirits of the Flowers. The modest little fairies with purple wings were violets, as they themselves had told me. My beautiful angel's name was Lily -f'Easter Lily. And the little pink maidens were wild roses. Had they not told me they were wild? Suddenly I thought of the little man. VVhat did he have to do with it all? There he was now, laughing gleefully because I pricked my Hnger. W'ho are you ? I asked abruptly. HI? Oh, you should know who I am by this time. My name is 'Spring Fever,' and this is my busy day. Hope you enjoyed yourself today. Ta-ta! See you again next spring. And he was gone. I cannot account for this strange adventure, any more than the reader can. Perhaps my mother was right, and I was ill on that morning so long ago-de- liriously. Perhaps the castor oil was responsible for the spell. VVhatever the explanation may be, I have often thought about the significance of the attitudes of the various flowers, and wondered if the blossoms did not really have spirits, that play around them in the spring. MARY KANE. I21l