Richmond Hill High School - Archway / Dome Yearbook (Richmond Hill, NY)

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apsis emoriae --By MARGUERITE BAUMANN-l HERE was a blanket of snow on the ground, two feet deep. Although the sun had not appeared, the ice made every- thing seem lighter than it was. The air was cold and breathless, as if it were waiting for something unknown. The bare branches of the bushes were black and stiff against the terrible whiteness of the earth's jacket. -lo my left there were several hills, and l decided that since l had no particular destination, l might as well climb them. After ong, hard going, l reached the summit of one of these mounds on the andscape, and sat down to enjoy the panorama. The shrubs were black stiff sticks thrust out of the icy snow which formed a hard, shivering background for them. As l looked at them l shuddered. Toward the north l could see an old, deserted farmhouse, dingy, unpainted, dilapidated, somehow frightening. Separating the prop- erty on which it stood from the hill where l was resting was an old stone fence. The boulders were grayish black, hard, discouraging. The recesses were all filled with the everlasting snow which made everything deso- late. Wherever l turned, l could see gray, cold, frozen, dreadful snow. My feet and legs were covered with the hateful stuff. l wanted to run away from it, but my feet had turned to solid chunks of metal, stuck to the ground as firmly as the dark, menacing, leering, exulting trees that sur- rounded me. The high wind that blew across the top of the promontory made the thick branches clash, creak and crack, as they seemed to laugh at me. The cloud-soaked sky seemed to descend on me as if it wanted to choke me, while the wind, in trying to blow me flat onto the cold hard earth, screamed raucous screams in my ear, You are only a mortal, a piece of living flesh that moves through the world unknown, unfeared, afraid of all the great natural forces such as we. My one desire was to get back home and find out whether l was insane, but l couldn't move. l sat on a stump for ages l thought were in- numerable and listened to the roaring wind, the death-promising sky, while l thought of the wind, the trees, the snow, all sared with the glory of claiming for themselves one more person who had lost his balance, his mind, his whole world. af A 4 ,I 4 in' V

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I carefully write a friendly note on the back of the card with the reflec- tion that Ruby will be so glad to hear from me that she will overlook the fact that the card arrived exactly two days after Christmas. I do the same to the others, address the envelopes in my best handwriting, put the cards in and pile them neatly up with a sense of achievement. The next friend is an extremely peculiar case. It seems that Lillian and I never lcnow whether or not to send cards to each other. Two years ago, I felt guilty when I received a card from her after I had neglected to send one. Last year, I was careful to send one to Lillian but didn't receive one from her. Now if I send a card this year and Lillian falls down on the job, she will feel uncomfortable. On the other hand, if she sends a card and doesn't receive any, she may be offended. After careful consideration of this weighty matter, I decide to send the card. After I place the fourth card on the pile, I looI4 at the cloclt and discover that it has talcen me one hour, fifteen minutes, and eighteen seconds to malce a start. This will never do. I hurriedly scrawl my name on all the rest of the cards without bothering to write a greeting and then address the envelopes. Too late do I find that some addresses are written with the envelope upside down. I am comforted by the idea that it is an original way to address envelopes anyway. My sister comes into the room and with her eagle eye discovers that about five of the addresses have been changed. patiently I find out the new ones, some from the telephone boolc, some from my obliging sister's address booI4. By the time I notice the need of stamps, the post office is closed and re- signing myself to the inevitable, decide to mail them the next day. After piling the cards up neatly, I return from the battlefield, with the air of a conqueror, for some well-earned rest-only to spend a sleepless night wondering whom I cut off without a card from me. ODE TO A GARDEN HOSE .... The water fell as tiny drops of gold, When flung in wide high arcs of breeze-blown spray, And seemed to splash among the friendly plants With happy, hearty music, stirring leaves. They splashed and carolled gayly there. The blooms Of perfect flowers caught engaging elves That rode their silver chariots, greeting grass, All blossoms, earth, if clothed in dull drab brown Or bright, or brilliant colors, living lakes Reflecting heaven's heights, unfathomed depths, Sun's rays and sudden shadows cast by clouds That sweep the summer slay serene. Marguerite Baumann Ti-IE SENIOR DOME Page '19 cj -FF

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