Evening High School - Owl Yearbook (Reading, PA)

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THE OWL . 91 A STARTLING EXPERIENCE Marguerite L. Ullrich It is a habit of mine, and I have often found it relieving, when I am worried with problems, to go out alone in the darkness and ponder over them. On one of these occasions I was wandering slowly and aimlessly about, and aftersome time, found to my surprise that I had unconsciously gone toward our sum- mer cabin. I was cold, and the idea of going inside and making a fire in our huge Ereplace, before which I could sit, while I could go on with my thoughts, was intriguing. to me. Of course, I remembered that I was told not to come' out here alone at night, since there were no other houses near by, nor was there any immediate way of communicating with anyone. Even while these warnings still repeated themselves in my 'mind, I reached for my key and unlocked the door. Did I hear a sound? It seemed there was one, neverthe- less, I believed it to be only my imagination. I closed the door behind me thinking that I had reason enough to have a guilty conscience. I tiptoed toward the switch in order to turn on the light, and in the stillness there was a dull click, which sounded exactly like the sound of a re- volver would make when the trigger has been pulled, but the bullet has slipped out of place and it does not go off. I wanted to rush quickly to the switch, but realized that I 'Would make a much more difficult target in the darkness than in a lighted room. I stood very still, lis- tening, and wondering what might be lurking in that terrible darkness. I waited, but nothing happened. After a While I knew that I must end this suspense. I found the courage to go to the switch and turn on the light. I looked about me, dreading what might happen, but there was nothing to be found. I Walked into the other room, but there was no one there. As I turned back I happened to glance into a corner of the room and there I saw a mouse. struggling to get out of the trap in which it was caught.

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90 Tl-IE OWL humanity. He saw a well dressed woman seated at a desk and he moved toward her. What can I do for you, sir? she asked in a pleasant voice. The young man wet his lips, lowered his eyes, and swallowed twice. Then thrusting his chin forward, almost pugnaciously, he said, l'd like to sign up for Evening High classes. LOVE E. Brilton Love is a star in flight, iiaming across the sky, Filling the midnight heavens with its fiery flow. Love is a far off melody sounding in our ears, Tuning our wayward hearts to the music of the spheres, Love is a golden sunrise flooding the mountain peaks, Robing in aureate splendor the fields below. Love is a flower unfolding, love is the budding trees, lt's the song of Spring's awakening, borne upon the breeze. lt's the sighing of windswept grasses beside a non- drenched stream In whose rippling waters nightly the white stars gleam. lt's the beauty of stormswept heavens, the thunder's rumbling roar. Jagged streaks of lightning leaping 'cross heaven's floor. lt's the restless ocean beating against its ancient foe, Now conquering, now retreating, falling in bafHed anger against the rocks below. Love is beauty eternal engraved upon my heart.

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92 THE OWL What promised to be a tragedy therefore, turned into comedy. Instead of sitting before the fire, concentrating on my unhappiness as I had planned, I was very glad to be alive, and realizing that my problems were not nearly so weighty as I had imagined, I immediately set out for home. AUTUMN Hedwig Schussler Autumn, the time of the year no matter how beautiful, always has a melancholy aspect. The dying flowers present a pathetic appearance, as though trying to hold on to their last beauty and stateliness. The brown leaves are chasing each other as though they, too, are making a last effort to show what life they still possessg and the cold autumn rains are beating against a window pane as though be- moaning the loss of the birds and their sweet songs, the songs they are now singing in warmer climes. Now the trees are bare, and they sway and bend to the sighing of the cold winds which nip every little bud and flower as they go gleefully along their way over gar- den and fields. Soon the little babbling brook will be frozen over, shutting from sight its sparkling, gleaming waters. Although the day is still young, the sky is covered with gray, heavy, slow-moving clouds, and a low still hush is spread o'er the land, a hush so low and marked that I cannot fail to feel its magic. Autumn tells me that after having poured forth its bountiful harvest of ripe luscious fruits and grains into the lap of the world, now, as a tired faithful servant, it is pre- paring for a quiet well-earned rest. Such is my conception of the season called autumn.