Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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THE BERKELEY HILLS The Berkeley Hills were brown, so brown Until the rain, came tumbling down. Then Mother Nature whispered low And sleeping seeds began to grow. First a point of green broke out, Then slender leaves did wave about; Soon the blades of grass were seen, Now the hills are painted green. Kathryn Clarke, Low Seventh. The stars are out and so ' s the moon, And what you see is as light as noon. Of course, it is dark in the shady nook, But it ' s light as can be by the babbling brook. The fish can ' t see very well, I think; For where they live it ' s the color of ink. It ' s dark down there when the stars are lit, But they don ' t mind ' cause they ' re used to it. Betty Hammond, Low Seventh. A DEEP SEA SCENE As far as I could see in all directions was revealed only dark, murky caverns. The sand, upon which I was resting, was covered with small bits of coral and strange creatures. There were small crabs crawling in all directions. Standing like fairy palaces were the homes of white-shelled coral worms. A small devil-fish was in the act of capturing a brilliant sun fish. Large sea weeds of all varieties moved and swayed around me. On the cavern walls, giant octopi hung like spiders. Hairy sea spiders swam about in search of food, and the numberless, small fish quickly swam away at their approach. Was there ever a more unholy place? Kistler Wagy, High Ninth. A WINTER NIGHT IN WYOMING One night during the winter of 1929 was especially beautiful. The snow lay on the ground like a white sheet. The moon goddess, Diana, was gleaming brighter than on any other night. As it was almost as light as day, the trees made fantastic pictures on the snow where the moonbeams peeped through the branches. In the sky, the stars were like millions of tiny, lighted candles trying to outshine the moon. Paths of golden light could be seen here and there on the blanket of snow. Never can there be another night as romantic and alluring. Elinore Hewitt, High Ninth. SUMMER IN THE DESERT The sun beat down upon an endless expanse of burning sand and sagebrush except a few tall, majestic cacti that seemed to be trying to reach the blue sky itself. The rays of the merciless sun were hot enough to burn the toughest of skins. There was not a tree or green sprig of grass in sight, nothing but sand and sagebrush. Elizabeth Robinson, High Ninth.

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FRIEND A kindly glance A friendly smile, A helping hand, A friend worth while. Eileen Hopps, Low Eighth. DARK NIGHT One night, when my studies were done, I went out into the field to plav. It was very dark and the wind howled through the tall grass. A ghostly feeling swept over me. I grew frightened and sat down in a miserable state of mind. Every mystery play I had ever seen, came to my mind in a whirl: robbers, murderers, and even kind of blood-thirsty men. What was that? A rustling noise in the high grass back of me! I held my breath, it came nearer, nearer; I dared not look back. What was it? A robber, what? It was quiet. Had the ? gone away? I sat it seemed for hours; then I ventured to look around. Cautiously, I turned and there, there sat an old gray cat, which on sight of me began to purr softly. Hurriedly I hugged the cat and ran into the house. My mother met me at the door and said: I thought vou would be in sooner. We were afraid you might get frightened, but I guess you ' re too old for that. I hurried to my room as I said to myself: If mother only knew. Rosemary Laxgheldt, High Seventh. SIGNS OF SPRING I hear the rain on my window pane A welcome April shower, And once again, in each shaded lane, Comes forth the dainty flower. The daffodil on my window-sill, The gently budding tree, The greening hill, the bird ' s sweet trill. Announce the spring to me. Doris Macdoxald, Loiv Ninth. A POEM TO FIRE Lift thy pointed spear of yellow. Lift thy realm of golden light; Temperamental colors, changing, Now soft and dull, now loud and bright Cruel, mocking, laughing fire, With thy realm of golden light. Lilliax Hexxessev, Lou Seventh.

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RETURNING FROM A VACATION When we return from a vacation, we always love to tell our friends what a glorious time we have had. We never fail to tell them about the beautiful night and how invigor- ating the air was, minus the mosquitoes. We mention the warm days, but not the cold nights when we didn ' t have enough blankets. We say that the swimming was marvelous and that the water was just the right tem- perature, but we don ' t mention the fact that the bottom of the lake was slimy and that water snakes were abundant. We always talk about the fun we had on hikes, failing to mention snakes, steep rocks and hills, burned fingers and food, thorns, the poison oak, and pine needles in our beds. We always say that the food was delicious, but they don ' t know about the ants which spoiled most of the meals. We display our glorious bronzed skin, but somehow we forget to mention the fact that we peeled for many agonizing weeks before we acquired that bronze. Our friends are always very excited and want to go to the same place we did for their vacation. If they do, I hope the poor things won ' t suffer as much as we did. Aleida Vornholt, High Eighth. SUMMER PLEASURE Oh, don ' t you remember last summer, my dear, Our camp by the old millstream? That freedom has spoiled me for school work this year, It seems like a terrible dream. And after awhile I will wake from my sleep, And see the old tent in the shade; The clothes and dishes all piled in a heap, The table that wobbled and swayed. Oh don ' t you remember the chiggers, my love, And the burrs that grew up on the cliff; The many mosquitos that hovered above, The black snake that frightened me stiff? So well I remember the hot dusty road, That we tramped in bathing-suits wet; The leaky old boat that we patiently towed, The fish that we never did get. Jane Flower, Low Ninth. A SNOW BALL A snow storm reminds me of millions of tiny fairies, who come in silver dresses to attend Mother Nature ' s annual winter ball. Trees, houses, telephone poles are all the partners at the ball. The wind is the piper, and when he plays, the dance floor (which is the ground) becomes a riot of silver and white against the blue tapestry of the sky. Fall ' s gorgeous reds and yellows, or spring ' s panorama of colors to me cannot compare with the dazzling beauty of a snow storm. Jane ScovrE, Loiv Seventh.