Page 40 - 1959

38
lst- Grade 12 & 13
THE LONEY ROAD
Although a murky fog shrouded the leafless trees outside my window, I
could still perceive the outline of the slow-moving carriage bearing its languid passenger whose slouch-hat completely masked his profile. Since I had moved into the old house on the hill, that grotesque figure was the sole traveller I had seen on the narrow road which wound its way past my front gate.
I saw the same man pass by nearly once a week. Although he usually travelled by in the mist of early morning before the light of day had properly ascended, I once caught sight of his silhouette in the bright moonlight just before midnight. I watched that night to see if the old man would come back up the road. In a few hours he returned much more slowly, as if he and his horse had become very fatigued in their absence.
The strange, shadowy wandering of the old man perturbed me. Determined to obtain some information about him, I drove into town. When I inquired at a local store, the proprietor told me that the road on which I lived ended a mile past my home. Only one house, which was deserted, was situated beyond mine. He knew of no elderly man living in the neighbourhood.
Because my inquiries had been fruitless, I decided to investigate for myself. I drove past the so-called deserted house. Although gloomy shades covered the windows, healthy weeds embraced the grounds, and the fences drooped sullenly, curling smoke from the chimney gave evidence that someone lived within.
My curiosity increased so that when next I noticed the carriage of my gloomy neighbour, I followed the old man in the early-morning darkness. When he stopped his carriage in front of the State Prison near town, I realized a hangman travelled the laney road past my house.
THE SNOW BELT
Around about November, the winds start to blow,
Filling and blowing the roads full of snow. The banks are high, the clearings few, And again comes the storm out of the blue.
We clamber about, up to·our necks;
The tow-trucks are busy bringing in wrecks; The weather is cold; the skating is best. We rush all the time never thinking of rest.
With the coming of spring, the streams start to flood. The warm air puts new zest In our blood.
Before we know it, summer Is here.
We listen to children's laughter and cheer.
JIM McFARLANE IOE
THE MOUNTAIN
With fearful strength the north-winds blow,
Beating the mountain with hard-blown snow; But bravely it stands In kingly grace, Mocking the wind with upturned face.
Reflecting the full moon's eerie light,
It slopes to the bay and fades In the night; And only the clouds which blanket the crest Gaze on the mountain's snowy dress.
As the first rays of dawn creep Into the dark,
The mountain remains, Its face still unmasked. And snow along slopes which sweep to the bay Again starts to glisten with the light of new day.
JACK GRAY lOE
ROSE VARTY 13