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NY CHOICE
Have you ever been asked the question, "Whlr.h season of the yeflr, do you
prefer?" If so did you have to ponder the question in your mind for a while?
It is really a question ~;hich should not be anm~ered 1·rithout some serious thought, because when we take each season separately and measure its qualities, each in its own ~-tay abounds with beauty and ~10nder beyond belief. Spring, when every tree and flower seems to just burst into life from a long, refresh~ slumber; Summer, vrith her vrarm sunshine providing joy for young and old; Autumn, rich with 1~ondrous colours, and Ninter - this is my choice - ah, yes, winter, when this bie; wide, wonderful earth is covered with a blanket of white, and every flovrer and shrub disappears from vie1·1, having been once more tucked in for a cozy nap.
Hhen I awoke the other morning and gazed out the ~rindow, the exquisite scene that 1·ras before my eyes made me just stop and utter a prayer of thanks to our Haker, for providing such a beautiful world for us to live in. Everything was covered 1·rith a fluffy coating of white do~rn, which seemed to sparkle and dance as the sun shone majestically on it from out of the blue sky above. The ever- greens were lool{ing quite elegant, as if they ~rere ready to go off to some special occasion, in their dress of soft white. All the fence posts were capped, and the 1~orld looked so fresh and neat, just like a child after a fond mother has scruobed him until he is spotless and nearly shines. It seemed almost a sin that this lovely scene 1~ould soon be marred in different ~rays by man, as he went about his many tasks.
Yet, do we really appreciate all this that has been provided for us, or are we too busy, rushing here and there to notice the beauty of the world?
~ne next time you are hurrying down the street, instead of wondering if you are going to arrive at your destination on time, look right after you do arrive, just pause a moment, take a look around you, and see if you, too,are not impres-
sed and thankful that you live in such a beautiful and scenic ~rorld?
He loved to feel his paddle surge against the rapids roar,
To feel the river's spume and spray against his weathered cheek,
To guide his craft to safety whe1·e the screaming eagles soar, And the hidden forest trails of
red men seek.
His arm was brawn; his eye was clear as water from a spring,
And when the steering oar was in his hand it seemed a living thing,
So true it kept the hidden rooks and snags afar--
But now tihose days are distant as the ghostly evening star.
By: Gail McLean XB
First 1.n Lower School Essay.
The Metis
To-day he sits with wizened face and be·ard as white as snow
Outside the trading-post to muse on those who come and go,
And wonder if a man is left who skilfully as he
Canoed his winter's load of fur to the country near the sea.
No longer can he race with death on every rapid, shoot and falls;
No longer does he leave the town when the friendly forest calls.
His lillibs that once w re hard as iron ar e withered like a leaf.
All that's left to do is wait the end in memories and peace.
By:- Rosemary Ruppert XIB
First in Upper School Poetry