Castilleja School - Indian Paintbrush Yearbook (Palo Alto, CA)

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He leaps and juggles his tiny balls into the air, until, caught in a moment of ecstasy, he tosses his cap to his imaginary crowd, and then, his simple offering complete, he begs a penny from the Blessed Image. Instantly, perceiving his sacrilege, he crumples to the ground in grief and repentance. He lies there only momentarily, for if he dances better than before, dances until he can dance no more ---- surely then she will forgive him. Thus he rises and begins his dance of repentance, slowly at first, then ever faster until he is whirling before the Image. His balls fly ever more quickly, his feet perform nimble steps without faltering. He dances on, bringing forth all the fire left in his little body. At last he falls, too too tired to dance again. He asks now only mercy of the Madonna, as he lies motionless be- fore her. All is still once more. Again into the Cathedral creep the other jugglers, rea- lizing the absence of their small companion. As they see him at the feet of the Image, they quickly kneel ----- heedless of the entering crowd. Suddenly the townsfolk stop in wonderment at the sight of the ragged troupe kneeling in the Cathedral, and glancing upward, they are stunned at the inert form of the little juggler lying lifeless before the Holy Virgin. The people, fall- ing to their knees, listen as the ancient chimes of the great Cathedral toll the hour of midnight, and behold the Madonna move She slowly raises her arms towards Heaven and then, with a smile expressing all the faith, mercy, and devotion of the ages, extends her hands in silent benediction over the still form of the little juggler who gave his life, the greatest gift of all. The awe-stricken crowd rises and reluctantly departs. Soon the square is hushed, the great gates of the Cathedral are clos- ed. The snow falls evenly, each tiny flake holding a golden cen- ter as it drifts and lightly rests upon the ground. A feeling of peace and serenity descends over the earth as the strains of Peace on earth, good will towards men , hover on the still- ness of the midnight air. 61

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It is Christmas Eve in Paris. The snow slowly drifts earthward in little swirls, catching the holiday spirit of a small crowd lingering in the square before the great, cold, gray-stone steps of the ancient Cathedral of Notre Dame. Suddenly in the distance a tinkling of bells heralds the com- ing of a gay troupe of jugglers who whirl into the square, dancing and tossing their balls into the air in hope of gain- ing a few pennies. Presently a tattered scamp mischievously snatches a juggler's cap and darts off, pursued quickly by the angry troupe, in turn followed by the aroused crowd. Soon the square is empty and still. In the chancel of the great Cathedral stands a wooden statue, an image of the Blessed Virgin, Mother of the Holy Child, about whom is wound a legend familiar to all the inhabitants of the town along the Seine. For at this time on Christmas Eve the peasants and the nobility, the monks and the children, lay at her feet their most cherished gifts. And, should the perfect gift be given, the Image, for one fleeting instant, would come alive to bless the giver as the chimes in the ancient Cathedral tolled the midnight hour. Yet through the years the statue has stood--unmoved and withdrawn. Dusk approaches. The doors of the Cathedral are opened and the candles surrounding the Madonna are lit. Monks in their garbs of gray and reverent townsfolk pass into the Cathedral to kneel and lay before the Image their most treasured possessions Hopefully they depart, and soon the great Cathedral is tranquil and hushed ----- the face of the Madonna glowing in the flickering light of the pale candles. Then from the cold, dark shadows creeps the troupe of ragged jugglers. Hesitantly they enter the Cathedral to wonder at the gifts but, fearing the return of the monks, they flee: yet one, a bit bolder than the rest, gazes with solemn veneration at the lovely Image. His heart is sad for he has nought to give. But in an instant he is gay, for he will dance for the lovely Madonna. 60

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THOUGHT A voice wings out of the darkness Knocking at the door of your mind, Seeping slowly to reality Then fading out to the sky. Into your eyes comes a twinkle, And deep in your chest there's a roar Caused by that soft little voice Knocking on your mind's closed door. Sheila Mack H56 ll LINES Yesterdays, Dull, whispering memories That fade in seeming reverence To meet the shining flame And competition of each today, They hide their power In a long forgotten verse or song, Or in the smell of dampened earth, Freshly plowed. Enchanting yesterdays, That drift or thunder back In each detail, Holding cheap the anxious present With all its moods and many whims, And yet, this very present Will, in turn Become itself a yesterday, Sylvia McNamara II5 5H 62'