Sarah Dix Hamlin School - Epilogue Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

Page 69 text:

Parisian., mi HAVE seen a great many people and most of them are blurred in my memory, L but she is not. I can close my eyes today and see her grizzled hair, see the twinkle in her eyes and the way she limped. She was old when I Hrst saw her, but to me she has always been the most honest woman I have ever known, with a tinge of ironic humor to soften her alarming frankness. She took me driving in Versailles when I was ten, and afterwards to a smart cafe for a lemon ice. lust as I was hopping out of the car, I stepped on her foot. Frightened, I drew back profusely apologizing, only to he interrupted by her saying in a deep voice, Go ahead and step on it all you want. It,s only a wooden leg. From that minute onward I loved her! ll SARAH DAv1s, ,39 Spring Thoughts fPoppies x7l4ustard Red and exciting 'Deep yellow Are grouped in sixes and sevens Blends with mountain brown. Over the grassy plain. Resisting the cwind's flight. Lupinea fDaisies Tall and cool White and petite: Wave in the breezeJ Peelgfrorn their hiding place, Like a blue-tippedflanie. The lovers' delight. IEAN SHEPPARD, ,39 A Wyoming Vignettea UT of the still blue night an eerie howl, rising and falling, resounded amid IN , purple canyons. A baby snake darted his black head and bright red tongue T X from his stony crib. Then with a sleepy hiss he recoiled his sequin body. The prairie dog snuggled close in his warm dirt hole. Lifting his small, moist nose, he sniffed the sweet night air, then covered his furry face with a softly padded paw. The sage rustled in solemn waves beneath the luminous moon. IOAN HUBBARD, ,42

Page 68 text:

,Afternoons at a Symphony fBlare of trumpet! mighty roll of drum! Mystic power of violin, breadth of shining horn., Pouring out song in vibrations strong, The gentle touch ofgraceful harp, the crystal note offlutL1 Qlorious melody flowing full and ebbing slow Like pounding breakers on a sun-lit shore: The somber bass, the cymbals clung, gay tambourine, and clicle of castaneL, Enhance us, listening 'with open soul, Transport us into blisqful reuerie.J. JANE M11.1.1s, ,39 Preview QE, . .4 STARED moodily at the painting before me. The heavy, old fashioned frame inwas a perfect setting for the portrait it enclosed. It was a hard face that stared back J at me, a face that reflected a stubborn, indomitable will, the will of a woman who had always had her own way. Her lips were set grimly, a slight cynical twist to one N corner. The chin was sharp, as sharp and cutting as her tongue must have once been. Her eyes, set off by dark, Hne eyebrows and lashes, held a diabolical gleam, a gleam of triumph, perhaps, in the knowledge that she was supreme ruler of her family and so-called friends. The cheeks were lined, and her brow, though broad, was devoid of all serenity and tranquillity. Only her hands showed rest. They seemed strangely white and young looking as they lay against the sumptuous black dress. They were out of place, too fragile and delicate to be those of the tyrannical old woman. The Hngers were small, and the nails perfectly pear-shaped. They looked defenseless, helpless, and lost in the heavy folds where they rested. My eyes travelled again to the face, compelled by the still living force of her will. l sighed, depressed. Would l, some day, resemble her? Would my family, years hence, see in me what l see in my great- great-grandmother? l turned away still wondering. Posterity will be the judge. PA'rsY MCEWEN, 341

Page 70 text:

MDVERTISEMENTS