Oakwood Collegiate Institute - Oracle Yearbook (Toronto Ontario, Canada)

Page 109 text:

Martha Fazekas 11G Martha Fazekas 11G Anne David 13 105

Page 108 text:

THIRTY BELOW Through trackless northern wastes plods the man-creature, alone in the bone-hard cold of thirty below in the Region of Black and White Absolutes. Jet-black beard tinseled with hoary white; once- supple parka brittle and numb; gasping, straining breath, choking at the onrushing winds; eyes drip- ping frozen tears; yellowed teeth biting away the stinging slap of the icy blasts; numbing feet stum- bling, shuffling, stamping, rebelling against the pure, crystalline Absolute Snow; heart pounding the warm blood through the canals of the body, defying the cold from without — cold against heat, death against hfe; the Omnipotent challeng- ed, the Inevitable refused. The boots become heavy. More and more, the snow grips them with a grip like death. The move- ment of the legs becomes mechanical, firm steps give way to aimless stumblings. Thoughts of any practical importance sUp away. Only the world of the fantastic, of tinkling icicles, of snowy planets swirling through ice-bound space, of a silver sun with tinsel rays, of ground of ice, and heat re- placed by cold . . . numbness . . . drowsiness . . . eyelids heavy with ice and sleep . . . Snow begins to swirl over the body where it has fallen. Breezes stir the hair of the parka collar, like an invisible hand. They eddy and swirl around a lonely tree and shake its denuded branches with fierce rapidity. A little furry white creature scur- ries across the path, not stopping to examine the inert form in the snow. He scurries into a little hole by the tree-trunk and disappears. Nature has given him the wherewithal to survive in this land of Absolutes. Gusts of wind have driven the snow into a nat- ural gully where rests a little dwelling made of animal skins mostly covered with snow. The en- trance is packed with the marks of many foot- prints. Out of the tent and into the dim light of dusk steps the dark form of a man. He is thin and hunched over. His face is pallid from long periods without sustenance; his eyes are sunken and dull. He gazes into the sky and sniffs the breeze. He carries a spear. He expects to find noth- ing except inevitable starvation and death. Yet he doggedly cUmbs out of the gully, sensory organs alert. He is met by the stinging blasts of wind and snow. Then he sees a body. Satisfied he is dead, the hunter prepares to dis- member the body. His animal instincts have taken over completely. He feels only the gnawing hun- ger and the biting cold. He looks up and curses the cold and curses the snow and curses his lone- Uness. He removes his knife from its sheath and prepares for the grisly work. He will take only as much as he can eat. At least he will live a few weeks longer. Then, maybe he will find some game. The hunter turns over the body. He looks down into the cold dead face. He touches it with his hand, feels the contours of forehead, nose, mouth. An overwhelming sense of loneliness comes over him. He cries openly as he does the only thing that win keep him alive. And in the Region of the Black and White Absolutes, a man knows what he is. Bill Briggs UNIVERSAL MAN David Oliver 104

Page 110 text:

REFLECTIONS FROM A HOSPITAL WINDOW T-JL ' MULE SKINNER John Angel BIRKS Designers and Suppliers of School Insignia PINS — RINGS MEDALS — TROPHIES BLAZER CRESTS CRESTED CHRISTMAS CARDS TWO TORONTO STORES BIRKS JEWELLERS 135 YONGE ST. • 33 BLOOR ST. W. Oshawa and Don Mills Shopping Centres I wonder what he is thinking of . . . sitting there, content, wise-looking, at peace with the world. Comfortably seated on an old time-honoured stool, he breathes rhythmically and smokes his pipe. With each puff, the white smoke curls creatively, fading into the summer quiescence. One long brown arm leans heavily, the hand proudly arched, the fingers stiffly curled about his cane. The other hand caresses his familiar companion, the Pipe, with whom he has conversed many a time in thought. There he squats, watching. The pigeons, greedy fellows, fly when not pur- sued by the neighbour ' s dog, and settle with ruf- fled wing on the lawn, hungrily pursuing tidbits. All the while, each beady eye shines with cautious wariness. The garden is small. Just a patchwork of slow effort; nevertheless, a Lilliputian paradise. Now he rises. The pigeons, of which one is beautifully white, fly, startled. With slow, deliber- ative steps he paces to the screen-door, a frown furrowing deeper upon his ancient features. The screen-door slams with a sharp annoying protest. Seconds later, the pigeons return, continuing their patient persistent search. But the white one has not come back . . . Natalia Cherniak THE STORM It lashes from the sky. It spatters to the ground; It sweeps across the lake Till all is lost in sound. It makes the trees bow down Unto the earth and up; It frolics over mounds Just like a little pup. When all its fury thus is spent. It then goes back to sleep Till it regains its strength To come again and weep. Ross E. Hayhoe 106