Roosevelt High School - Bwana Yearbook (St Louis, MO)

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EWENH AROUND THE CLOCK AND CALENDAR IN THE OZARKS Then God smiled. and it was morning- Matchless and supreme, UNRISE and springtime! The wind has lulled the stars to sleep, and the lacy mists of dawn are rising in the eastern sky. The Ozarks have awakened and seem trembling in the chill, gray air, just as the wings of a moth tremble and expand into the fullness of their beauty. A bluebird warbles its gentle song. Deep in the moist woods, the spring beauties are blooming, and over the rocks, the wild columbine spreads in slender, wiry grace. The pale purple of the hepatica and the deeper hue of the violets set off the pure white of the bloodroots and the bright hues of the wild honeysuckles. ln the higher, wooded regions, the flowering dogwoods seem like snow against the dark background. Then, above the shimmering horizon the flaming sun appears, scattering the clouds and the lowland mists and blinding the Ozarks with its glare. The sunbeams carry the messages of dawn and springtime to doubting hearts still wrapped in the fog of winter's gloom. The molten gold of the sunlight rains through shining, newborn leaves. From a thorn bush, a brown thrush, master of melodies, rejoices, challenging its hearers to awake and dare to live! The carol is answered by the clear, flute-like whistle of the meadow-lark perched on a fence-post. The Ozarks are young again. Young blood is hot and hearts are singing-singing their youth away in the glad thrill of spring-time. There is laughter in the Ozarks: laughter in the gay carols of the birds, laughter in the play of breezes through flowering trees, laughter in the sunbeams sliding down shafts of light, and laughter in youthful hearts. It is easy for youth to laugh at the midnight's scowl when the sun is smiling on a World of beauty. YVben the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew, Nflnd the dew is full of heavenly love that drips for me and you. Midday and summer! The beauty of the Ozarks is in full bloom. A canopy of deep, unclouded sapphire stretches through miles of the infinite. The heat is intense, the sun has fired the world with too much joy. The air is laden with a million dreamy, sleepy lullabies. Even the song of the wind, slipping through the willows, is lazy. ln the swampy marshes, the wild roses make bright splotches of pink against dark green leaves. The blue of the sky is reflected in the day flowers, the sunlight, in the buttercups. ln shady woodlands, the jewel-weed grows in profusion. From the heart of the forest, a pee-wee calls, plaintively, incessantly. The indigo bunting, faithful serenader of summer, sings from a briar patch in an old field. From the pine woods bursts a spontaneous melody, the song of the summer tanagerg from the orchards come the sombre, melancholy notes of the yellow-billed cuckoo. The throat of the red-eyed vireo is pulsing with the heat, and a wood thrush adds Twenty-eight

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1 BWEINE its rich song to the symphony. There are dreams in the Ozarks-the delirious, noonday dreams of summer. '4T1'll my dream of autumn paling In the splendor all-prevailing, ULz'ke a sallow leaf goes sailing Down the silence, solemnly. Sunset and autumn! The saddest time of the day in the saddest part of the year. Autumn is a time of judgment, when summer and winter meet in a grim battle. And always the decision is pre-ordained. Always winter triumphs. Autumn is Nature's last stand, her last, glorious holiday before a long death-like sleep. Who has not been thrilled by the riotous pageantry of trees in autumn? The dark green of the evergreens forms a shining back- ground for the flaming colors of deciduous trees. ln the uplands, the yellow of the butternuts and black walnuts reigns supreme. The maidenhair trails bright, golden tresses. ln deep, shady woodlands, the brown of the shagbark hickories, the yellow-green of the ironwoods and beeches, the deep red of the white oaks, and the russet-yellow of the black oaks are woven together into a regal robe for autumn. The Hickers and the jays scream from the forests, while in the meadows, goldfmches, like dainty, winged jewels, hover above the thistles. The blue-birdis sad call of Far-away, far-away! is quite different from the gay carol it sang in the springtime. Golden hazes trail the meadows. Everywhere is the dread of imminent tragedy. The glorious beauty of autumn is false, for happiness is lacking. Autumn is defiant in the face of impending disaster. Why does the sunset seem sadder tonight? Why is the silence more grimly prophetic? The scarlet-tinged clouds overhang a Sorrowing world. Chimney-swifts flutter aimlessly, almost mechanically, through the sky. The bright crimson of the sunset melts away at last, and twilight falls like a blessed benediction, for the sorrow of autumn is only the restless, yearning grief of youth that is growing into maturity. The Ozarks are tired-tired of their mad, delirious summer dreams. The Ozarks have grown older and no longer are content to laugh and dream. They are longing for something deeper, some- thing indefinitely greater than the care-free laughter of childhood. They are yearning for peace, and that peace is realized in the gentle comfort of twilight. The Ozarks have learned the value of obedience to the Almighty. There is sweet sorrow in the Ozarks, the final, poignant, resigned sorrow of autumn. 'Vind euerg star-tip stabs mg sight Wz'th spllntered glittermgs of light. Midnight and winter! The Ozarks are sleeping beneath a glistening blanket of snow. The trees are stretching their arms toward heaven in sur- render. The wind whistles through their barren branches, shrieking, wailing in weird exultationg it is voicing the triumph of winter. The Ozarks hear and shiver in the cold starlight. Somewhere a village clock strikes twelve. The silence of death prevails. Even the moaning of the wind is hushed. Deep in some forest, a timber-wolf bays his anguish to the high heavens. The Ozarks hear and shiver in the cold starlight. There are ghosts in the Ozarks-gaunt, dim spectres in the starry midnight. AUDREY THYSON Thirty Term 6