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

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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'

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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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THE BUT TERFLY It was early morning, the sun had not yet driven away the crystal-like dew drops that lay untouched on the sparkling green lawn. The air was still crisp and fresh feeling, having not yet reached the stifling heat of noon. A small child was sitting in the middle of the lawn, intently watching the gaily colored butterfly flutter about the fuschia bed which bordered the garden. He had no more interest in pulling out the clumps of grass and squishing the tiny grey bugs between his stubby pink fingersg all his rapt attention was on a bright yellow butterfly. g First, only his eyes followed the mothing of the creature, but soon his entire body was swaying, following its movements. It finally lighted on a bright pink flower, and he found himself slowly, cautiously crawling toward it When he was only a few feet from the edge of the lawn, he stopped, and sat back on his heels, observing his prey. The low buzz of a honey bee, circling the lawn, just above the level of the boy's head, was the only sound to be heard in the hypnotic silence that enveloped the entire garden. Then, stealthily, the boy rose to his feet, and with a swift thrust of his hand, he caught the butterfly and brought it to his cheek in an affectionate gesture. The soft flutter of its wings brought a smile to his usually sullen face, and he felt less lonely. But only for a short moment. The sudden real- ization that it was struggling to free itself came to him, and his smile disap- peared as he pulled it away from his cheek. He held it at an arm's distance for a moment, and then, with grim determination, he methodically began to tear it apart--wing by wing, segment by segment. Sue Stafford '55 63