Brattleboro Union High School - Colonel Yearbook (Brattleboro, VT)

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MILLICENIT PAGE 38 dons her pure white offspring on the doorstep of the earth. Slumbering humans were all unaware of the silent transformation being wrought during the frozen night. Then comes dawn and realization of what has hap pened. Still, gray, mysterious dawn, enhanced by the aura of light that is not light, steals out and instills in me a desire to dream, to wonder, and to wait impatiently for the fulfillment of the earth's promise to struggle to life with the coming of the sun. As I peer out a window, engraved with delicate, white traceries, I almost gasp NXKNQWX H Y n Winter Velvet Q W s - V., OFTLY and furtively during the night Nature aban- I E , ,x ff X e ' pf 1 'X 2 at the wonder of the world. Not a track nor a footstep mars the perfection of the velvety snow which shrouds everything. All the mounds and little hollows are no longer sharp corners and rough irregllarities, but are graceful, flowing, indefinite curves, moulded by the hands of a mighty sculptor. The trees and bushes form black and white etchings against the snowy background. Every branch and twig is the proud possessor of a gleaming white top coat, tall elms with interlocked boughs form a lacy arc over the streets, low hedges have become huge, furry balls, lightly poised on lawn edges as if ready for sudden flight. ' The rising sun casts shadows both grotesque and pic- turesque. Busy, thoughtless feet have trampled down the snow, making odd, irregular patterns. From a downy bed of cotton the snow has changed to a cloak of diamonds, shimmering in the brilliant glare of the sun. A quick wind stirs up little puffs of powdery snow, which whirl madly along, on top of the cmsty snow. It's now the beginning of dusk, that quiet, meditative interval which separates day and night when the hills bulk purple-black against a cool silver sky. Long fingers of rosy light still faintly and tenderly caress the sky. I wonder at the thought that the same silver light and rosy glow reflects in winding threads of rivers and boundless seas far away, magically cloaking them in a cape of mys- tery. All is still, waiting breathlessly for the day's end. THE last retreating messenger of Day disappears over a misty white bank of snow. The uneven foothills cast their broken shadows on the land below like a pro- tective arm around a helpless child. The bare, gaunt trees cast long, wavering shadows upon the heaped up snow. Blue-black clouds stalk across the sky with much grandeur. Piercing shafts of cold light are raised like slender fingers lifted in parting adieu, seeming to render blessing upon us all. A cold, silver crescent rises silently and frigidly from a calm sea of shadowed snow, and with pale majesty, casts its wan light through the pearl-hung trees upon an earth, scintillant and brilliant with wondrously chill, blue-white snow. Clusters of stars hang like jewels sus- pended by invisible threads against the velvety darkness and limitless space. E As an answer to the saucy winking of the stars, pine trees moan softly to the whipping edge of the wind and send out twisted shadows that sway eerily over a regal mantle. Snow drifts, piled lightly in the queenly glamour of swansdown, are mirrored in ribbons of ice. Tranquil and soothing, the trees sigh, the snow snuggles closer to the earth, the stars blink drowsily, all noises are hushed, and the whole earth, warmly protected by a blanket of delicate white velvet, yields to the winter night. Snow Cvanities BEVERLEY BIGELOW '38 MYSTIC . Enshrouded figures Dance on the brim of the mountain. Haughty Enhancing beauties Pirouette on the stage of the world. Swooping and swerving Flitting and flirting, Garbed in rufHes of white, They waltz to the wind. rs I Winter ELAINE STAFFORD '41 WINTER comes padding in As still and soft As a little white, unwanted kitten, Rubbing against the cloud drapes On either side of the large, Spaceful doorway of the sky, She curls her white Soft body in her Favorite place on earth's floor And rests her weary, tired self. I

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Chimney Spell N through the congealing gray of dusk, stretched the rutted line of a country road. Whiteness velveted either side and stretched its shadowed folds to the black line of pine that gripped the horizon far beyond the fields. The distant white of the hill top fused with the indefinite skyline just where the road dipped over the crest, and gave one the vague impression that the road hung, frozen in mid-air like an icicle. A vast sense of loneliness blew coldly down the rough path and whistled through the early twilight. A pencil-marked shadow appeared to the left of the road. Humped almost invisibly under the snow blanket lay a low stone wall. Like so many potatoes under a sack, the ice-coated rocks of the wall scattered in untidy heaps and seemed to argue the course with the road, for often they lay caught in its icy clutches as though the road had been a brook, ice- bound in the act of flowing over them. Automatically now, for I had tramped three miles over this winter-chained country, my numb feet lifted their heavy boots to crunch over the irregularly molded ice- trail. My breath was thickly white in the rising wind, I quickened my uneven step. How bleakly empty the sur- rounding scene seemed. No tree or fence marked an ex- pression on the white-masked meadows. Slight shadows only accented the white claim of winter to the land. Piercing cold swept through me but I could not hurry over the unyielding ground. The distance to the hill top looked short, yet I never seemed any nearer to the crest which the graying sky had begun silently to trace. How much farther over this rocky waste had I to go? Wind-drawn tears stung my eyes and froze on my face. Powdered snow whipped my cheeks like Hung sand, but I struggled on, for to return would be as hard. Slowly, I trudged upward, as the frosted blast tore at my coat and flapped my hood about my head. Finally, the top of the hill shouldered the heavy tread of my feet. I had reached the summit. I STOPPED, shivering, to peer through the semi-dark- ness at the shrivelling road's continuing line. As it had ascended, it went down the other side, frozen earth, snow-crusted and crooked cut through the shadowed farm- land. It was so still that I imagined that I could hear the intense quietude. The darkened heavens drew closer to earth and, like a huge octopus, reached out long arms to cover it. Earth, a road-the invisible skyline-, my eyes swept over these. A gasp-the ghost of an exclamation material- ized in the cold air! for there, to the right, black against the fast disappearing horizon, a chimney breathed warmly into the night! It was as though it breathed life into my stilled body, life from its great, warm, red-brick heart, for an inner warmth crept over me at the sight of it. A f Cul by Marian White '40 CHIMNEY SPELL chimney-warmth, rest, food-companions, too! How life-giving that homely symbol was! Feet, no matter how numb, could not have resisted the beckoning of that chimney's smoky finger. The vast emptiness of field and sky was filled with its friendly presence, the wind was not as sharp nor was the road as stubborn. That ugly old chimney was a call in the winter wilderness, and my lost heart answered with a loud halloo ! l

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sf: nqyeqfsqv , f 1 ' fy-' 1 i f 'Y 1 l E X i ll si 1 it D -, ' 2 01- ' :,Sfvx Cul by Nanrimzne Shaw '40 HFRESH BEAUTIES OF w1NTER now Paradise DQRIS CHURCHILL '39 E used to think that winter would come tumul- tuously like any foe, and leave no gladness in our hearts throughout the winter months, but now it arrives in pomp and ceremony, chanting with invisible trumpets of mighty north, and tempting us to share the beauty-the delightfulness in this land of cold and snow. The waxy hand of winter reaches down upon the tinted autumn slopes, and ruthlessly sweeps all sum- mer's elegance before it-only to cut loose, in three days, with a single sword of frost, the accumulated labors of three months of summer. This forerunner brings freez- ing nights and at last snow. A winter storm brushes clear, and leaves the world hushed, subdued,-a place of peace. The dawn makes crystaled hillsides and valleys fresh beauties of winter. The air is crisp, cold, and life-giving, luring the city dwellers to the hill country where there is no smoke or soot. They fill the country side with loud laughter and merry-making of skiing. They fall on their faces, hug convenient trees, or turn unexpected flipflops all with the spirited conversation of the great outdoors, Trees, the essential beauty to a winter day, are the gate- way to the mountain paradise. Rising above the flame and gold of sun down, the lanky bitches and quivering hem- locks stretch their perpetual limbs, covered with the heavy weight of snow. Slim spruces stand obediently day after day with their lofty burden sifting through stiff needles, only to drop harmlessly upon the still ground. Maples, stripped of their beauty, stand silently throughout the win- ter months awaiting the dawn of their resurrection. Through this elusive quiet, bushes and briars imprisoned by inches of lustrous snow seem so tense that they are ready to crack apart upon a moment's disruption. HERE, the deep woods are soundless, unless the quiet Tis interrupted by a rabbit, white as the soft snow. He hops noiselessly across the trail, and stops to sniff deli- i 7 cately at some red berries on a small bush. Then he quickly bounds off and scuttles under an overhanging pine. Over- head, a grey-limbed beech creaks and leans towards its neighbor in a silent breeze. This startles the rabbit and again he is off to an old protecting log, buried almost from sight in the snow velvet. Occasionally one hears the discordant cries of a fretful bluejay and glimpses him in his shiny blue flights. Often crows come here to roost in the later afternoon. Frequently a sleek deer leaps nimbly over an icy brook, up a knoll, and into the forest deep. In three successive jumps a fluffy squirrel crosses a barely visible stonewall, wrapped in winter's snow, floats over an old rotted log, and glides across the snow filled road. He ponders a moment, then significantly regards the thicket and wiggles his wee nose at a yonder bush. Scenting a tasty berry, he scampers to it and immediately samples it. Hear- ing a scratch of dainty feet, he wheels around and sights an oncoming chipmunk. Quick as a Hash, he hastens to the nearest tree and scales it rapidly, stopping to hide in its rough, worn trunk. After the chipmunk has resumed his journey, the squirrel peeps about cautiously from his concealment, only to find his precious berry gone! This snow paradise displays noble splendor from sun- set to sunrise. The cold dusk arrives, bringing with it the freezing breath of the North. Stately pines outline the skies in sensuous beauty While small hemlocks wave softly in that frigid air. The black sky is hung with myriads of stars, and seems to put the ebon forest in its protection. A round billowy moon sails through the foamy clouds like a ship that sails the bright, blue sea. The Lady of the Moon sighs and tips her head, letting the clouds comb her silken hair. The howl of a distant bobcat, a cry of the night hawk often break this silence that makes the hemlocks shudder and sway closer together. On and on the night travels until the forest is framed in the morn- ing sun-such is Snow Paradise. l