Hamden Hall Country Day School - Perennial Pine Yearbook (New Haven, CT)

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ON WRITING A LETTER The very idea of writing a letter sends chills of antipathy up and down my spine. AB a result I try to delay answering a letter as long as possible. This is easily done by getting all set to write and then Quickly finding an excuse to do something else. I ad- mit letters are fun to get, but they do accumulate so easily. After about a third message from an irate friend demanding in no uncertain terms to know why I haven't answered, I'm forced to give up, admit my defeat, and start thinking about writing. Having thought about this letter a sufficient length of time, I pick the day for the actual writing. I get all settled, then realize I haven't paper and envelopes that match. However, the first difficulties are duly overcome. I'm all prepared at last - paper, ink in pen, blotter - completely ready to answer. How foolish of me to think that the hard part was over: it has just been reached. There's that ominous whiteness stretching blankly below the HDear--N. Let's see now. What on earth can I possibly write about to her? CI wonder what that smooth tune is that UBingU is crooning on the radio! Heavens! None of that -- now, what to say. I'll have to start with one of those weak, feeble excuses explaining why I haven't written. After rapidly scribbling the insipid apologies, I eagerly scan the paper to see if that staring whiteness doesn't seem lessened a little. It's no goody the pure oolorlessness is only intensified by the little concentra- tion of black at the top of the page. Well, probably I could write about the movie I saw last week. Suddenly I realize that I'm writing easily and faster, faster. The movie episode is finished and now I dash on about the hockey game, my Valentine present, school today, and the play we're going to Hive. Golly, I haven't any room left to close the letter. Now what shall I do? I guess it can be sorunohed up all right in the bottom corner here. There, that's right. Now the envelope is all addressed and sealed. That really wasn't so painful after all.

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At last I can sit back and enjoy life. My duty is done. A mischievous scrap mfsatisfaction scampers through my mind. I have written my lettergthe diff- iculties have been successfully overcomeg it is my dear friend's turn to suffer now. The responsibility for the continuation of our friendship rests solely on her shoulders. I have done my part. This triumphant feeling accompanies me exuberantly to bed and continues pleasantly through the following day. It is a doomed sen sation, however, for I discover that I have received another letter in the afternoon mail that will be added to my unanswered accumulation ---- I'm right back where I started from. Itfs inescapableg I'm trapped. Peggy Wilson '44 COLORS I watched the sunset's changing hues, Like the palette that some painter holds To mix his purples with the blues, And the silvery grays with the golds, The shades melt and blend into reds and yellows, They stretch and shrinkg The keen, bright scarlet that mellows Into a glorious orange and pink. Then all the tints grow duller and duller, And suddenly they fade away, Until sky and air are all one color-- A molten, ashen gray. I bewail the sun's declining, His rays like a broken ropog But already the first star is shining-- Why, it's the Star of Hope. Phyllis Bellln '45