Milton Academy - Yearbook (Milton, MA)

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A Music Series I . Like words, a silence flutters, It is the language of strings Motionless, a hummingbird, hung Echoing the earth's droughts from the sky, like faith. sounding of dying naked worms - Descending of cracking dust - the sparrow hawk Ending on a tree branch, where silence is the On Still Wings sound of breathing. strikes the end of a pawprint trail. Iosh Gray It holds the mole that the snake, sliding through wet leaves and green goldenrod stems, had missed. Motovespa Live sleek live loud live fuel-efficient Live the flashing of red lights ahead through the rain Live anonymous roads enigmatic companions Live weave swerve verve nerve engines vigor in vain The roar of the engines the song of the darkness - The cool easy darkness that fits like a hood - Bright green polyurethane hard cushion seats Taillights flash and beckon you young gorging good Motovespa - invite you to live There are no lines we cannot cross There are no cars we cannot pass Cars - so pragmatic and straightforward safe frm The yolk of adulthood cherubically chafe We're young loud lighthearted the temperature's warm ' ' Run longer pant harder is there no escape - ggg: l ggg gg Motovespa - invite you to live. T' T Rob Sheffield Iohn Bisbee PIETAS When white-capped waves, winds, whirlpool full moon rise, Anonymous Her prow asunder, leafy oars will drag. Brine in his black hair, Aeneas surprised, Unconscious, shipwrecked, held by foreign crag. Salt seaweed, sand dried blood, spared from his grave, Trojan Aeneas with Carthageis Queen, Dallied, hidden by the dank, darkened cave, While barren twigs midst rocks matured bud-green. Iove, spurred by Fate, sent Mercury in haste, Let Dido abdicate passion's love-reign, Her pyre flames Aeneas' Trojan race. Must Pietas burn brighter than love's flame? A life perforce will end, begun so soon, An embryo withheld, by debt consumed. Katharine Appleton Downes

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Gordon Burnes 1 f if Q n f g ' o V V : Wu N ' I My ' 'f-In. 'FJ' it S if '- o o f fi o o o How. of X , 'Q f' M N, , , f-1-any Bob Colman

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A Fine Spring Evening Two boys lay in the grass on the edge of the pond in repose. It was post twilight and very quiet. Occa- sionally they heard a frog croak or a robin return to its nest in one of the nearby pines. Brief spurts of music wafted over the trees at in- frequent intervals. Each boy held a bottle of beer in his hand. Several empty bottles lay be- tween them. Tom was resting side- ways on his left elbow facing the other boy, Fred. They were bud- dies. Tom's back was to the pond. How long have we been here? asked Fred. lust twenty minutes. The music's already started. Listen. Tom listened, then he picked up an empty bottle and threw it over his shoulder into the pond. He turned in time to see circular rip- ples diverging from the bottle, which bobbed nose up in the water and began to drift away. Fred turned and reached into a brown bag on the ground beside him. How about another beer? Good idea, said Tom. Fred reached across, handing him a bot- tle with a silver label on it. The bottle was cold and wet in Tom's hand, and he could almost touch his fingers to his thumb as he gripped it. He was beginning to feel older. The beer had a thin head to it and was yellow, not gold. Do you need the opener? No, I've got it, Tom said. The bottle sighed as he popped the cap off. Tom handed the metal opener to Fred, who opened a fresh beer for himself. A bullfrog began to croak. The mosquitoes would not be out for another month. Tom and Fred sat in mutual si- lence and enjoyed their beers. Tom was relaxed, and he felt very solid. He felt a core of strength and power gradually radiate from his gut. He felt it like his last center of gravity. Now, he was in control. It was very strange. With his beer half finished, Tom looked over Fred's shoulder at the pine trees. He concentrated on them and caught the musty scent they gave off. Underneath each tree was a bed of brown needles. Tom noticed that the pine trees formed a half-ring about where they lay, creating a natural enclo- sure. We're well hidden, said Tom. Oh yeah, no one can find us here, said Fred. We're well hid for certain! That's why I wanted to come here. I drink here a lot. Then he added triumphantly, Once I even brought a girl here. Tom had heard this story many Iohn Bisbee W . . ,, .. . - . . .... 4 fff. 1- .W-V--M --.-2anW--fxmmffwf,m '--n11vwsngsnu ,, Alex Merrill times before, and it was very bor- ing. He did not want to hear it again, so he changed the subject. Did you ever do any fishing here? Fishing? No. You can't, I mean, it used to be polluted so they all died. What was polluted? The pond. Of course. All the fish died. Of course. Is it still polluted? I dontt know. I guess once something's polluted it stays that way for a long time. Forever, sometimes, said Tom. What? Nothing Tom finished his beer and felt very much in control of himself. Give me another beer, will you? he asked. He opened the beer Fred gave him. All things were clearly defined. For instance, Tom noticed that conversations were carried out in stages of topic, and that one stage of their con- versation had just ended. Life was carried out in stages too, he thought. He contemplated these immense truths while he drank his beer. From over the trees they could hear dance music and a girl laughing. Tom and Fred weren't sure these sounds were to them H