Oak Grove Coburn High School - Oak Leaves Yearbook (Vassalboro, ME)

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OAK LEAVES 1949 DREAM-CHILD fApologies to Charles Lambl Children are often apt and able to stretch their imaginations to an amaz- ing extent after they have snuggled up under the warm comforter, and mother and father have kissed them all and turned out the lights for the night, all except the one in the hall, even if the door is ajar with a shoe in it to prevent any possibility of the wind blowing it shut. It was with this thought in mind that I slowly rose to go to my young daughter who was standing in bare feet and her bunny-pajamas fChris called them by that intriguing name because they were covered with sleepy- eyed cotton-tailsl , at the top of the stairs, calling tearfully to tell me that there was an awful big bear in her room and she was afraid that it would eat her up while she was asleep. We walked back together to her tiny blue and white room with its forget-me-not wall-paper, she quickly slipped back into bed and down under the covers so that only her two wide, startled eyes peeped over to watch me as I carefully searched under the bed, behind the curtains, and in the closet to see if I could find the horrible beast. After I had looked, as a last possible resort, through her small bureau drawers, into which she thought the creature might have climbed if she had been mistaken and it was only a small bear, Chris was finally convinced that it must have climbed out the window, and she wriggled her toes and sighed a great sigh of relief. Bears are awfully funny animals, - yawn -1, aren't they mommy ? she said in a long, careful sentence punctuated with a yawn. Yes, Christine, I guess they are, I answered, but not half as funny as you, and I leaned down to pinch her little snub nose, which she immediate- ly wrinkled up so that it was even smaller than before. She squeezed my fingers in her two tiny hands as she said, Good-night and sweet dreams, and asked me to kiss her again before I turned out the light. I bent quickly over the small tousled head with its tangled curls, but as I drew near, it faded and then disappeared and only the white pillow remained in its place. And suddenly I realized as I sat up in my bed with a little start that I had been dreaming, Chris was only a dream-child, and it was morning again. MIMI LOGAN, '49, CHILE Chile,-what does this word mean to me? Why, whenever I think of it, does a warm, sweet emotion flow into the sanctuary of my heart? When I say Chile, I see a long irregular coastline, bordered by the green and blue-gray Pacific, this ocean which in parts caresses the white sand, and in some others, furiously beats at the indifferent rocks. I see the many islands in the south, where centuries ago the Araucanos defended vigorous- ly their last bits of unconquered land from the irresistible pressure of the Spaniards. I think of 1541, when the first city, Santiago, was founded, 23

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OAK LEAVES 1949 half a century after Columbus stepped on the Virgin Islands of the West Indies. When I say Chile, I see the long range of the Andes, crowned with eter- nal snowg mountains that are a frame for the fertile land, that are a frame for the blue sky. It is in these' that a symbol of peace and good-will between two nations is found. This symbol is The Christ of the Andes and these are the words at the foot of the monument, Sooner shall these mountains turn to dust than the people of Argentina and Chile break the peace which they this day have declared at the feet of their Redeemer. It is in these mountains that the heroes of Chilean Independence sought shelter while preparing for a new attack against the Spaniards, and at the foot of these mountains the Declaration of Independence was signed in 1810. It is here, surrounded by these mountains, that the Chilean people live, striving for a better world. When I -say Chile, other thoughts come flooding in, but first I think of home. CLARA COSTA, '49. PRELUDE TO DAWN I early awoke this morn to see A host of busy elves Crowding my garden. Heedless, they, Of any but themselves. They did not see me watching them Spraying buds with dew. They did not even notice when I glanced upon the hue With which a few were tinting blooms Of pansies, gay and bright. And some, so tensely occupied With chasing back the night, Not even turned at my approach Along the garden wall, Not even stirred when softly, I Murmured a gentle call. But then, before I found a chance To stop one on the lawn, The reddened sky burst with the sun And all fled at the dawn. MIMI LOGAN, '49. 25