Rancho Alamitos High School - El Conquistador Yearbook (Garden Grove, CA)

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60 Self Beside the fire I read my book Within a world my own. And as I lean back in this nook, I dream of things I've known, A Of friends I had, Of facts I learned, Of gifts received, Of things I earned. Oh, of this lonely world I'm in, You'l1 probably never know. To me it seems I never win. I never really grow. But stay as I have always been, A seed that wasn't sown. Tim Russell - 11th Grade John Montoya 12th Grade ww 5. ' :fi It ' I fit r ,R S-C., 'tm s Joanne Bagwell David Whitf0Id 9th Grade 11th Grade .,.-- ,Lf .KN Q 4 . .wb -. I If iw

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Jim Gurzi 11th Grade li V ' e' ' A. o . V 'V' . , . . , , t . , - ,, -' Sf' I.: '-s: e N Q M . :Q 0 ' .. 'Tia X X ' ' - 31,-1 , . 4.--1 A n : a V,-,,..,,Nn I, f Jeff Carlson 9th Grade 'Sz' . I, U.. aIE..' 'N . . S I O .N 0.3, BEFORE THE RACE The warm protective cloth covering completely is gone now . The wind and dark clouds. bitter cold , stab and slap my almost naked skin the sweat freezes and dries I breathe hard. A leaf falls from a nearby branch. The breeze grabs it with its icy palms and throws it toward the lake. Small ripples white-capped and flowing receive the dead leaf and send it sailing past a duck - the bird looks so comfortable, warm and content. I can hear my heart now it is in rhythm with my foot steps. Unbearable , the tension rips and tears my inner organs while the wind whips my back. Into the group I migrate the grass scraped dry hidden softness by the river of air yet underneath, the hints of hidden moisture. It's warm here in the pack, all breathing hard . white mist hanging from the breath, Restless. everyone moving about. The outside voices hush. Even the wind calms the group freezes, everyone leans forward as far as possible every inch counts . A command. I close my eyes and talk to someone I barely understand. I-le is close to me now. I open my eyes my fear is gone the cold is gone my mind is blank the lasting instant of waiting. It's over now with the sharp terrifying signal the mob moves. The waiting is finally over. Steve Neely 12th Grade Tornado The old grey barn sleeps soundly in the night. Unnoticed is the subtle arrival of the murderous clouds. A sudden roar breaks the tranquility of slumber As the wretched funnel-shaped cloud appears on the horizon. Ringing in my ears is the sound of wood being ripped from its foundations like arms and legs wrenched from their sockets. It lasts only a minute, or half. The funnel's work is done . It left its mark behind. The old grey barn will sleep no more . Nadine Bergstrom 11th Grade

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MOODY SKIES Clouds part overhead . The sun shines through For only a moment Then the clouds fuse. The sky, crowded with clouds, Thick, silver, dark complexioned. Asks the wind for consolation Not knowing how to guide the Golden , heating rays through its congestion Frustrated and bewildered, the sky Cries out in a bellow of rain Heaving its load and answering Its own quest to shine and be seen. Joe Dudevoir 12th Grade Mark Glessner Rick Ratner 11th Grade 12th Grade Mike Hayes 12 Grade The Tree I looked at the tree. Darkened shells of once living acorns lie in an island of dark shade Surrounded by milky yellow light as if seen through sleep-filled eyes. The grass I sit on is a deep cushiony green, still bearing traces of the cool dewy night. I look at the tree itself: A muddy, well-water brown. Living, thriving, blemished with intricate valleys, each a disunited world in itself. filled with the constituents of a different life, insects. I look up. up, this lone citadel Towers above all else. My eye's gaze reveals mighty branches to me . The wind rustles the leaves. Down at its base a tiny ground squirrel, shades of iridescent browns and golds his fur. scurries away toward a rendezvous with fellow chipmunks. As I lean back and close my eyes, the countryside is endowed with the carolling of the birds. I listen, and peace overwhelms me . The burning sun has set. Day is done . Tim Russell 11th Grade