King City Joint Union High School - Mustang Yearbook (King City, CA)

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krsses of the breezes could not brrng the color to her cheeks She could no longer romp wrth the wrnds or run besrde the stream So, wrth the brrds srngrng happrly and the breezes blowrng gently around her, she sat besrde the arch and listened Whlle we played the Happrness Song of Chrna One short hour of freedom had been grven her by her father, as her last reguest But the hour never passed for when the servants came for her, her spurt had gone They found her lyrng on the grassy bank wrth a happy smrle upon her lrps We are sad no longer, for we know that she rs free and happy, and that once a year she wrll return and spend one Joyful hour wrth us The trnklrng of the chrmes dred away Here and there rn the sky a star wrnkled The hour was growrng late and I walked back through the garden Over a drstant hrll the moon was sendrng her fn st beams of lrght A gentle cvenrng breeze played across the gal den Many years ago there was no wrnd The world was 1 very hot place rndeed a there were no coolrng breezes to soothe the laborer s hot face and make hrm more comfort ll Food was scarce, and there were no leautrful flowers or shrubs as the un drred them up before they werf. grown The wrnds were not there to cool the earth and brrng the ramdrops when the sun cast its rfrys of heat down upon all The world was rn 'r sorrowful plrght indeed Yet beauty, especrally grace and strength of body, was admrred then as now Many athletrc contests were held, runnrng berng the mam event The 'rrhletes were many, and few were poor m then' skrll A Myth of the Wand By VIRGIL CAMPBELL 28 One day a great track meet was scheluled All the most famous athletes rn the world were to compete They came from every land Among those present was one who was known as Mercury Mercury was noted for hrs marvelous endurance and speed Twenty or thlrty mrles was on ordrnary run for hun He was everyones chorce as wrnner of the endurance run, for rt was to be won by the man who could run the longest perrod of tune wrthout stopprng' As the race started, Mercury notrced thc most beautrful lady he had ever seen srttmg rn the gallery He nnrnedratelv fell very deeply rn love wrth her Each trme as Mercury came around the track he looked at thrs lfrdy 'ach trme he went around faster untrl at last he was runnrng' by hnnsell' 'lhe thrrty frvc and at last the fortreth mrle was reeled off Me cury would not stop, for to stop would be showrng weakness, and he was proud or hrs -rreat strength He was very tned but the srght of the berutrlul lady rn sprred hrm on At last when Mercury came around to her gallery, the lady was gone He at once became conscrous of hrs great fatrgue He stopped running' Could she have been so cruel as to leave hlm after all hrs eliort wrtlrout 'r word of pr arse '7 Mercury stood very strll takrng qurck, deep breaths He had overdone hrs run He could not breathe naturally For days he took these qu ck, Ek ' - . ' ' - Q ' - ' ' . . ' ' H ' ' H h . . , . I . w ' . . . ,, As I opened the gate, the nightingale's song sounded again from the trees. , ' . . . . u . ' 2 s i l ' S I 1 1 ,! ' - fa, c. - ' ' ' . ' a n -1 gr 'I ' ' 'JI . , M r . 'c ' c . ' c G 1 ' 1 1 1 A u 6 . I . , . . x - ' 6 . - , 1 , . E . 1 Ji. ' . - - - ,, H . l . ' . , ' ' . ' ' r , ' - . . 4- . . , K 4 . A ' , D . . l S . C

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r i Q v-Q11 -2 . ' ,L ili --. 5 A - Springtime! Springtime! The cherry trees were bloom- ing gorgeously. Flowers of every kind and color were peeping through a carpet of tangled vines and ferns. Far across the city the temple bells were tolling the hour of four. The sun, a firey ball, was slowly sinking into the sea, paint- ing the sky myriad hues of purple, red, and orange. Beside the stream, suspended from a marble arch, were the most beautiful and yet most fan- tastically painted wind chimes I have ever seen. Melancholy tinkling re- sounded through the garden as a faint breeze came slowly over the wall. Breaking the silence came an unmistakable whisper. The Wind Chimes By IONA LANG, '28 Listen to Rela, the wind chimes, and learn 'the story of Cushala and the garden. I sank upon the ground, reclined against the marble arch, and gazed intently at the chimes. This is the story. Wong-Po, a rich tea merchant had a beautiful daughter upon whom he lavished many a costly gift. For her he built this garden, and fifty years ago he bought us, the most beautiful and wonderful chimes in China, to be placed in the garden. But one day the priests in the Temple of Lee Sol warned Wong-Po of a terrible misfortune that would overwhelm him if he did not give his daughter to the temple when she would become eighteen. Such a great love as Wong- Po's had made the gods jealous, and nothing but his daughter as a sacrifice could appease their wrath. ' In the garden, loving every bird, flower, and wind, Cushala was grow- ing up ignorant of what Fate had in store for her. All day long she frolicked with the winds or played beside the brook. We played our happiest tunes, and all things in the garden conspired to make Cushala happy. Happy hours flew swiftly, and soon the time came for Cushala to leave. It was on a dark and stormy night that Wong-Po called her to him and told her she was to become a priestess in the Temple of Lee Sol. Outside the thunder roared and the wind raged. Lightning flashed, the heavens opened and a torrent of water descended to the earth. Cushala begged her father not to let her go, but he had promised. When entreaties were no longer of avail, she threatened to end her life. Finally, Wong-Po, angry with her disobedience, agreed to break his word to the priests, but Cushala would have to spend the rest of her life in her room. Never again could she go to her garden. Cushala ran to her room, weeping bitterly. The storm gradually sub- sided. Cushala went to the window and looked out upon the garden, illuminated by a pale moon as it moved through the murky clouds. The scene was one of desolation and havoc. Vines and flowers were in tangled masses, and small branches were scattered all over the garden. Day after day the flowers, birds, and winds watched for Cushalag but Cushala never came. Flowers drooped and died. Birds ceased to sing. The Wind wandered listlessly over the garden, humming the saddest of tunes. For the first time in our life we played sad and melancholy music. The days filed slowly past and Springtime came again to the world outside, but it was still winter in the garden. ' But one day the birds returned to the garden, for they had heard that Cushala would come once again. Cushala came, but it was a changed Cushala the winds greeted. She was wan and weak, and even the joyful F I

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deep breaths. He could not eat, he could not sleep 5 he could never regain his natural breathing. In fact his breathing became so heavy that it sent breezes all over the world. So we may thank Mercury for the winds which are a blessing to the universe, and when we hear the wind sighing through the trees, we can Lhink of it as poor Mercury sighing for his loved one. . The sun was casting its Lgnellnesg last faint, rosy rays from a sky bedecked with crimson and gold to a lonely, purple valley below. As I sat on my horse, silhouetted on the rim of a deep canyon, I watched the long, purple shadows, silently creep o'er hill and dale. Slowly the objects on the plain became faint and indistinct in the approaching twilight. The aspens quivered as the evening breeze whispered a lullaby to the columbines growing on the hillsides A ramshackled cabin, hid among the trees and nestled among the flowers, could be faintly distinguished from the dark background of the coming night and the hills. At length the sun had kissed the last tall tree tops good-night, and the realm of solitude lay in peace and quietness once more. On a little knoll not far away, distinctly outlined in the rising moonlight the form of a lone wolf, perhaps the last of his clan, sent his lonely cry to the rising moon and the landscape. As a signal which must be obeyed, I turned my horse, retraced my steps back to the turmoil and anxiety of civilization. By MARIE GONTHIER, '29 The eastern sky was of a A Storln ghastly, greenish-red hue. A low moaning could be heard afar, as of a lost soul. At times this moaning grew into a shriek, and then it died away into silence again. The sea appeared to D8 covered with oil. A long swell came from the east. The copper-colored clouds grew in the sky, obscuring the sun. Brilliant flashes of lightning played aroundthe edges. The distant muttering of thunder could be heard. A line of white advanced rapidly across the sea. Suddenly, the boat buried its prow in a huge mountain of water. With a great crash tons of water iell upon the deck. Shrieking wildly, the wind came. The rain fell in torrents. The waves grew higher, and the wind grew fiercer. An inky blackness prevailed over all. Wires shrilled. Masts groaned. The ship plunged about as if in agony. The white, drawn faces of the crew appeared as in a nightmare. Through a rent in the clouds, a ray of sunlight shone on a wild waste of tumbling waters. Then all was darkness again. At length there was a barely perceptible lightening in the east. The wind lessened in its fury, but the waves continued to rush madly along. By degrees the sky lightened and the wind subsided. Finally the waves diminished to a long swell, which in turn died away. At length the sea presented a peaceful aspect that showed no trace of the fury of before. By DONALD CADDY, '29