Wheaton College - Tower Yearbook (Wheaton, IL)

Page 23 text:

will M 1 'Wai' Another complication but not a damper. 4-nf A beautiful girl steps into a framework of white to halt expectation for two folded hands. The frame- work becomes a painting of triangle composition in silk roses. Still-idle talk, day-old news, tapping fingers. Classrooms denote the fortunate ones. An empty brown desk discloses occupancy elsewhere. And elsewhere, warm sprays bathe while puffs cloud the humid air. Hard white boards stand re- signed to the steel's pressing steam. Lipstick, Chantilly, Trifari form a trio of enchantment. All until afternoon appointments are sprayed and pearled nails dried. Only then can the picture come into focus. Fall, ROTC, Dorm, Washington- it matters not. The men encroach the mansioned walls. Familiar composure displaced by tenseness. 17

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A beautiful girl steps into a framework of white. The sudden wonder of the first real snowfall. We thought it was still Autumn. Under our feet is the wetness but we stamp and it melts into nothing- ness. The snow is smell of a long idle car heater. The sound of swishing windshield wipers that sometimes stick. The sight of a silent white fall that tongues try to taste. Cars inch along the avenue and welcome the new season. People from Tennessee stare and listen to Colorado skiers tell their tales. A blistering Chicago wind makes a lake front mighty in white. We wonder how long the snow will stay. T6 Another complication but not a damper. Evenings are for fun. And snow or not. Whether a stiff con- cert or a relaxed cellar party, time stands not still. Nor do we. We borrow a car, not on the first try. But we are persistent. Try again. We do the hour of preparations during the minutes remaining after haircut and last-minute shopping trip. Maybe the laundry was not done this week. Then the glance up and down. Preparation finished. Exit antici- pates entrance. The night is ours. Just for fun.

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Listening to the sound of Christmas. It's a Saturday at Wilmot. Every house has a tree in the window. On almost every door hangs a wreath. Everywhere waiting, listening to the sound of Christmas. Carolers step through air that is very cold and very still. An organ entices. Parties are background bows and silver tinsel. All in December but only a scapegoat. A few more days and it will be time to go home. Everybody wants to be home for Christmas. 18