Petaluma High School - Trojans Yearbook (Petaluma, CA)

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THE ENTERPRISE, ’15 winter, tlie spring and the summer are everywhere symbolized in statues and paintings, and most beautiful of all is the graceful statue of the goddess Ceres, looking out toward the little stretch of blue ahead of us. A soft breath of air is wafted through the long vistas of pillars and arches, giving more than ever the balmy atmosphere so fitting to our own California. Emerging, at length, from these shadowy recesses and walking briskly down the broad marina, we somehow feel a new spirit and vigor in the air that carries us away from our dreaminess and vague pictures of the past. Here the broad expanse of sunlit bay stretches out before us; the gulls swoop down here and there with something of both sea and sky in the dull grav-blue and white of their wings. Far above, sur¬ mounting the Pillar of Progress, we see the wonderful figure of the bowman, his arrow pointed straight out to sea and the west, the spirit of conquest and achievement in every line. Our eyes, too, follow up the inspiring prospect and rest with satisfaction upon the green Marin headlands and the dimmer successions of hills behind them. A long walk down the marina brings us to the startling realization that we have perfectly commonplace human appetites, after all. Lunch is suggested, but the suggestion is our only satisfaction for just one hour and a half. We realize that we never fully appreciate the fountain of energy until it is announced that its bountiful flow is cutting off the water supply. No coffee, no clean dishes! Nevertheless, it is quite exciting, even to a starving person, to watch the waiters tearing around with loaded trays, shedding lettuce leaves and bread crusts here and there with a thrilling carelessness. After a most hygienic luncheon of baked beans and peach pie, we drift into the Zone. The worst dreams we ever dreamt can’t come up to this. Winding in and out among the caverns, jaws of snakes and huge distorted figures more absurd than even the cubists could perpetrate, we tumble speedily from our lofty train of thought and giggle most foolishly for some three quarters of a mile. Dimes and quarters and even half dollars are tempted away by charming straw hatted spielers, who lure one and all into everything from bowls of joy to a pasteboard Germany. The squeals of the delighted multitude getting their money’s worth, added to the efforts of innumerable rather wabbly bands make all the confusion that the human soul could possibly desire. We are carried along in it all and it is only after a most exhausting struggle —18—

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A dlimpap nf tiff iFctir OFT California sunshine, the joyousness of the San Francisco festival spirit, these are enough to inspire us with eagerness to enter that city of beauty and wonder, so long dreamed of, the international exposition. We are on tiptoe with expectancy until we have passed the mysterious green hedge which hides it all from view; and then the glory hursts upon us,—everywhere color, beautiful soft pastel shades, copper green, delicate pink, terra cotta; everywhere fountains playing, flowers blooming, and towering above all tall pillars and arches, magnificent statues and massive domes in glistening beauty. The feeling of exhilaration and almost triumphant sense of having our¬ selves achieved something is indescribable. The mist of the fountains in our faces, we stand there, conscious that the throng about us is thrilled with the same sense of ecstasy, and more than ever conscious of the universality of it all, that this is the exposition not of San Fran¬ cisco, but of the w orld. And then suddenly we become aware of a glorious mass rolling upward and almost bewildering us with its richness of figures, its suc¬ cessions of pillars and towering of cupola upon cupola. It is only an impression which is permitted, for the eye darts first here and then there as the sun’s rays bring back a response in dazzling sparks of fire. We forget to notice its features mentioned in magazine articles and lecture courses, but we know that we have seen the Tower of Jewels and caught something of its impression of mysterious, overpowering splendor. Just whither we are bound we do not know, but we wander up and down in joyous excitement, dipping down into sunken Italian gardens, resting occasionally upon a classic bench and feeling, somehow as if carried back to the age of the Renaissance in Italy. Now we pause under a great arch, adorned with dull toned mural paintings and look beyound into the lovely Court of the Four Seasons. A still, smooth ex¬ panse of water mirrors the long colonnades and gives a dim impression of the statues, inviting us to come further. Here in soft pink lined recesses, cooled by rushing water and overgrown with vines, we find tall statue groups, typifying the seasons of the year. The autum, the —17—

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THE ENTERPRISE, ’15 through crowds and nightmare that we come back to the world of the morning. As we walk on, the sun gradually lowers and it gives us a feeling of rest and repose to look out across the smooth lagoon before the Pal¬ ace of Fine Arts. The slanting rays light the green foliage of the banks and cast an almost purplish hue over the long sem icircle of pillars that guard the entrance. There lurks in the long shadowy reflections in the water and the dignified symmetry of the great dome, a certain air of solemnity and satisfying beauty, that somehow sums up the spirit of the exposition and makes us depart, glowing with inspiration and a sense of the greatness of men’s achievements. FRANCES BROWN, T3. —19 —