Princeton Day School - Link Yearbook (Princeton, NJ)

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Porter Eubank The whooping crane wandered woefully westward into warm and warmer waters. He hail- ed his friends the herons who came towards him on a seven engine motorcycle. Hail, he said. And since the sky was blue, the sea was blue and the herons were quite brown, they got into a small discussion about the merits of whooping crane color: Regard- less of the basis taken, said the crane, the assumption is deleterious to a clear under- standing, in that the basic cognizance of the incessant manifestations of the beauty criteria, as constituted culturally and as reinforced by the appropriate representation of artistic ma- terial, so that inherent in any presentation hereupon. . . Whereupon, he drew from his large and left pocket a long and figured stream, cluttered closely with private digits that Ethela typed. In the event that absolute perspective were maintained, he continued, the realization that the decision can only be subjectively Viewed will be reached. The herons, however, had not reached it yet. They did not plan to reach it in the near fu ture. Instead, the larger one replied in a loud voice: YOU KNOW I SUPPOSE THAT IE YOU HAVE ONLY ONE LIFE, WHY LIVE IT AS A WHOOPING CRANE? He addressed himself with false discretion to his friend, to say, For, you lcnow, they are becoming quite extinct. And the crane gave one sort of laugh. He knew, of course. He wiggled his toes in the tepid water. He was not whooping today. Moral: The eschatological process towards eventual epiphany is irrelevant if extinct. 8

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Once there was a Spider, and a very frustrated spider it was indeed lt was forever constructing elaborate webs, but always after careful picking and pulling of the web, a look of dissatisfaction would appear on the Spider's face, and it would utter a short cry of disbelief-- XG, the Web Wasn't quite Right. The Spider built a succession of webs, each of which the neighbors said was quite satisfactory. The Spider kept on. But, at about the 164th web, it began to ask itself-- Am I really the Spider, or the Fly? One day, a housemaid with large red hands came lazily dusting, and swiped at the 399 now existing webs of the Spider. The Spider shrieked, and clung to a single line. Then, miraculously, in that condition, it found that this was without doubt the perfect web. Indeed. Nou' you will find the Spider, hanging on a single line, happily devoting its life to sup- plying free toothbrushes to itinerant insects. Moral: Give an inch, to gain a mile. Linda McCandless l