Foxhollow High School - Heron Yearbook (Lenox, MA)

Page 66 text:

MT he Chase M The sun was coming up slowly beyond the purple mountains in golden streaks. There was a white mist rising from the ground which concealed all but the mountain peaks. The half moon still shone pale in the grey sky. Another day had begun. One wandering ray of light fell on the clearing at the base of the hill. Into it stepped a stag, his pronged head held high, testing the morning breeze. The harsh chatter of a red squirrel fell on the uncaring ears. The stag stood motionless, wrapped in a golden haze. Like an explosive he shot from his bed. Dawn had brought him a new adventure. He covered the ground with easy strides and was almost upon the stag before the still- ness was shattered. The stag, startled from his reverie, left the clearing in one bound, and the chase was on. The scent was hot in his nostrils, it infused his brain. He ran as if for life, and gloried in the running. He heard not as his quarry's hoofbeats drummed the frosted earth, as the rotten branches crashed in his wake. Obstacles meant nothing. There was no time to choose the easiest path. He took everything in his stride, holding his head high to keep the scent. He didn't notice when the chase left the woods for the stubbled fields. His breath came in short gasps. He was tiring, but his quarry was also tiring. The first burst of speed was taking its toll. The stag was no longer bounding gracefully along, but ran in erratic leaps, driven by a mounting panic. How could he shake the restless demon that was pursuing him? The dog saw only the white rump, smelt only the rich scent, heard only the strangled sobs. The stag had run his race. He made one final bid for freedom in a fatal bound and fell back, exhausted, on the iron pronged fence. There was no further need for speed. The dog slackened his pace. To the cogent odor that had drawn him was added that of fresh-shed blood. He glanced at the once- noble stag impaled above him and, judging well the distance, sprang for the head. The hunter who had watched with worried eyes the ending of the chase now raised his gun. The shot rang through the woods and, as it re-echoed, the dog fell, dying, under the stag he had slain. 'He was a good lookin' hound, the hunter exclaimed as he turned toward his house and phone. Too bad he had to chase deer. The sun stood free from the mountains and radiated its light irnpartially on the world below. Its merciless rays sought every hidden nook, even the shaded glade where the stag lay, revealing the dead and dying. For them the day was over. Judy Grose 62

Page 65 text:

3 g, K S X Q its . A T Q' S. 1 x V I L4 FRENCH DRAWING ROOM, THE MOUNT 61

Page 67 text:

L --Zn INTO NIGHT To watch A deer, The mountain brook, A rabbit small Rippling, May come. Falling, Here Laughing in its How O'er rocks. . Light, 'dark, light, dark, Flashing In the sun. Then crash! Splashing Through the gorge. Below - All calm, A quiet pool. Above - The green of trees, Waving Unheard beside the stream. All may drink, Or feast on growing green. From clear To golden beams, Sifting Slowly through the leaves. Then dusk. And silence falls About the wood. Alone, The sin ing Of the brook is heard, For here Is night. Ellen Lawford NIGHT AT THE KATYDID Lights out bell just rang, Five minutes late - Who's to blame? There goes Miss Brown - out on a date. Come on girls - 1et's quiet down. Downstairs there is banging, Could it be - someone's hanging? No, it's just the radiator, Come on girls, it's getting later. What's that thumping above my head? Has someone fallen out of bed? Et la voila, C'est Madame, All this noise she's trying to ban. Oh, dear, what was that? Could it be - the cat? I heard some laughter, Disturbing the quiet, Come on girls, it isn't a riot. 63 What was that buzz? Was it a bee? Turn on the light, I've got to see. Come on girls, It's time to sleep, Not to talk, and laugh, and eat. Put away all your books, , Please don't give such dirty looks. Lights must be off, When the bell rings, Why must I tell you? You know all these things. Really girls, it's getting late and Here comes Miss Brown, Back from her date. Elsa Mitchell