Bowmanville High School - Screech Owl Yearbook (Bowmanville, Ontario Canada)

Page 95 text:

3rd Prize Prose Life and Death There she was, small but not so small. She was on her feet already and only a few hours old, a filly, with four tiny hooves, and a dapple grey colour. Already I could see in her bone structure that she was going to be a big and muscular horse. Just like her mother there was a big broad chest, and shoulders, enormous hind-quarters, and strong slender legs. Good qualities for a fine hunter. She had so many qualities from her mother it was difficult to find her father's but his were there, the tiny head, small and delicate ears and her colouring. She found her mother's soft warm udder and began to suck greedily on her milk. The mother nuzzled her baby closer to her side and nickered softly. After she had finished feeding, the little one collapsed tiredly into the clean dry straw. All of this event is still quite vivid in my mind, and it seems only yesterday that she was still a baby. It's hard to believe she died last night out in the pasture after bringing another life into this world. Barbara McGuey 3C The Wonders of a Lamb Be If you were 'asked To give advice, In one word, I'm sure I'd find These answers clear. Live, I'm one of a flock, Love, Yet my master knows my name, Learn, Though often I may wander Think, His love is always the same. Give, Laugh, If I lie in green pasture, TTY- I'll learn there to trust, But I've found a word . For I can do nothing, That one word is MBE . But keep still---I must. It takes in, In the turmoil of life, As I seek for my rest, By still quiet waters, He gives me the best. Linda Ferrill 2A The way of Life, The feeling of Love, The skill of Learn, The time of Think, The treasure of Give, The joy of Laugh, The energy of Try, Now don't you agree? That the word is BE , One last thought, I wish we all could B E Brenda Moffatt 2A

Page 94 text:

Alone Alone is an isolated desk at the front of a class when everyone else is at the back. Alone is the empty library with just you and musty books. Alone is walking down Lover's Lane in the rain. Alone is Christmas with only a bare, dead pine tree. Alone is no parents. Alone is fighting a false reputation. Alone is an unwed mother. Alone is being black when everyone else is white. Alone is dying in Viet-Nam. Anonymous Grade 9 f67 2nd Prize Prose Running I've done it! I'm free! They nearly got me today. Every day it gets harder and harder to run. I've got to find a hiding place, one where I can rest for an hour or two between the chases. They keep getting bigger and stronger each day but I'm just falling apart. I don't know how long I can keep up this pace. Now I'm exhausted but soon I'll be sleeping. How beautiful sleep is! It's serenity and peace are all- enveloping. The tranquillity of slumber provides a temporary release of my tensions. My mind and soul alike seem to be floating in a sea of something . . . something more than peace, something much, much more and total. I'l1 be dreaming of a place where they can't get me anymore. It seems to be an oasis . . . an escape, a door with peace on the other side. Will I possibly be free at long last? Totally free? Forever? No wait! Something is always pulling at me, something dragging me back to the contest. The piercing sound of the dutiful alarm drags me back. Oh God! Not again! I hope in heaven's name that I won't have yet another day of reckoning. And yet, as I stand in despair, I see people laughing at me as they would laugh at a fool. Why? Why? But I'll have no time to think, for they will be on my tail again. Is this all there is to life ? Is it nothing but running from one's mistakes? Chris Jones 2E

Page 96 text:

A Peculiar Visitor Miss Maple, though eighty-five averred that she felt as young as she ever had and refused to even consider her family's stubborn insistence that she behave with the dignity of a woman her age. They'd been rather upset, poor things, when they'd found her playing hop-scotch with one of the little girls next door. Miss Maple was thankful that they didn't know she'd also ridden the chi1d's bicycle. However, she was sit- ting in a cane rocker today with a blanket about her knees just to show her family that she had some consideration for their feelings. She was fervently hoping for a cool breeze, for she stifled wrapped up in the woollen blanket. As if in answer to her prayers a faint, cool current of air brushed her face. Her bright, inquisitive eyes saw, at the same moment, a tall, slender woman coming up the deserted street. Waiting until the woman was quite close, she called out to her. Hello! The woman turned, looked gravely at her for a moment then slowly mounted the steps of the verandah. Miss Maple threw off her comforter impatiently and gestured a chair to the woman, who accepted it and sat down. . Do have some tea. It's just fresh. Do you take cream or sugar? My, it's so lovely to have a visitor. You know, I've never met you before, but you're very familiar. That blue dress you're wearing is very pretty and I'm sure I remember seeing it before, too. It seems to me I remember seeing you in it when I was a child, but that's impossible, I know. Con- trary to the views of some people, I've not been a child for years. I remember seeing a woman in a blue dress walking along the beach and I do believe she was a friend of Mother's. Here, Miss Maple removed her glasses and looked keenly at her visitor. It could have been your grandmother, I dare say. The woman smiled, but shook her head, Miss Maple put her glasses back on with a sigh. Do forgive my chatter, my dear. Help yourself to some cake or cookies. My, that breeze is delicious. It's stronger now, and so fresh. My nieces and nephews would insist that I put that blasted blanket around me if they know I was out here. According to my niece Marie, a fresh breeze is a chilly draft. Are you visiting here, my dear? The woman shook her head. Coming to live? The woman smiled again and this time nodded. I'm so glad, for you'l1 be able to visit me quite often. Do forgive me for peering at you, child, but you do so remind me of that will o'wisp I saw so long ago. Ah, well, you couldn't be one, you're too solid. Will o'the wisps can't drink, after all, can they? Do you like those pink cakes of mine? It's an old recipe I found in my mother's cookbook. Don't be shy, help yourself, dear. Why, you haven't touched your tea. Is it too strong? Her visitor stood up, a gently, dreamy smile on her lips She looked carefully around her, then learned over to whisper in her hostess' ear. I've come to haunt the place, she said. Debbie Walker 13B