Foxhollow High School - Heron Yearbook (Lenox, MA)

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

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 68 text:

The Journey They came slowly up the road through the colorless dawn like shadows left by the night. There was no motion in their bodies, and yet their feet scuffed up dust that settled behind them as quickly as it was raised. They lifted their eyes with each step they took, peering toward the horizon for the first red rays of sun. The woman held her lower lip clamped tightly between her teeth. It hurt her to do that, but it was the only way she could urge herself forward step after step. There was no other way to drag her feet, one behind the other, mile after mile. She whim- pered occasionally but did not cry out. At the top of the hill, they came face to face withthe sun. The sun was a quarter of the way up, cut in two by the treeless horizon. Down below them was a valley lying under a cover of mist that rose slowly from the earth. The woman looked at the man beside her. Red rays of the sun had begun to color his face like blood. But still his eyes were tired and lifeless. He looked as if he were balancing himself with great effort, and as if the next moment he might lose his balance and fall to the ground. As quickly as it had risen the sun shrank into a small, fiery ball that seared the eyes until it was impossible to look at it any longer. The man looked at the woman in the rays of the sun, seeing her for the first time since it had set the night before. Her face was paler, her cheeks more sunken. Without words, he started forward down the hill. He did not turn to see if she were following him, but went down the road draw- ing one foot from behind and setting it down deliberately in front of him. There was no other way he could move himself over the ground. He turned his head and looked back up the road, but there was nothing in sight. Then he looked down at the ground he was walking on, counting the steps he took with his right foot and then his left. . SILHOUETTES Tall straight buildings are silhouettes The river hugs the shore between, Against the darkness of the evening sky, And Hows quietly on its path of darkness As if cut from paper with holes poked through, The little lights on the tugs and barges Making a twinkling pattern. Move silently up and down. This is New York, as I like to think of it . . . A magic city, huge and glittering, Spectacle of light and darkness, Seen from the distant shore. jane Boynton 64