Paths
By
Helen Crutchfield
They wind in and out among woods,
gfrasslands, and meadows—those narrow,
twining paths. Some of them are rocky.
Others are just pebbly, sprinkled with
white, curiously shaped pebbles that
cover the brownness of the earth and
fairly glisten in the sunlight. Sometimes
you see a grassy path. It may stretch al
most endlessly across a deep, fragrant
meadow or wind slowly up some distant
hill—a slight twist, a crook, and then
a firm, straight stretch, but always
covered with the same cool grass.
Rocky, pebbly, and grassy paths, but
have you ever seen a path of pine
needles? Did you riot long to throw your
self bodily against their smooth firmness
and with one sigh thrust out all of the
heaped up longings within you, and then
with one deep, eager breath let the piney
fragrance of the needles creep into your
very soul? Would you not feel as if you
had thrust off some awful burden and
taken within your being new life, power,
and fortitude?
I let myself do that once. I was all
alone and had come over many paths.
Hurriedly I had skipped over the rocky
ones and stopped occasionally on the
pebbly ones. For a few seconds I ran
breathlessly through the fresh, verdant,
grassy paths and then, as breathlessly,
slipped to the ground and ran my fingers
idly through the sof^ sweet blades. There
among the green grasses of that path I
was keenly aware of the tangled paths
within me and realized my imperfectness.
I knew that I must find a more rest
ful place, one not quite so fresh. I
thought of a very beautiful path that I
had once seen. I could not remember just
how it looked. In fact, the memory of it
was so dim that I became afraid that I
was remembering a dream, and, yet, it
was real.
By this time I was out of the grass
and, to my intense surprise, running
swiftly over another path which seemed
to be of nothing but earth, soft and warm
under my feet. All around me there ap
peared to be nothing but space; and
then, I know not how, I came upon a
grove of tall, green pines. They were so
lovely that I quite forgot that I was
Searching for a path in which I might
stop and think, really think, and try to
untangle all of the mixed up paths within
me.
Then I looked down. Here was the
path I had been looking for. The needles
had dropped from the pines and formed
a deeply piled carpet of brown fragrance.
With a little Inward cry I dropped just
where I was and there I sobbed out all
of doubt, ugliness, bitterness; and all at
once, the paths that had been so horribly
twisted and warped untangled themselves
into the peace and perfectness for which
I had sought. All of the loneliness which
I had thought was gone came throbbing
back and with it a deeper sense of love,
kindness, patience, sincerity, and forgive
ness.
They wind in and out among woods,
grasslands, and meadows, those narrow,
twining paths, and in some small way
are caught up and mingled with our lives.
Rocky, pebbly, grassy, and flowery paths,
but somewhere along the way, there is
a path of pine needles, the path that
brings an understanding.
The Unconquerable
■■■ : By ■ •
Daphne Penny
The forces of nature have always been
a mystery to humanity. When one sees
with wonder those forces perform their
tasks, one is at once possessed with awe
and astonishment. That low, rumbling noise
which penetrates the calm atmosphere is
the first warning of the confusion taking
place among the natural elements. Nearer
that noise comes and presently the air is
split with a sharp crack of thunder. The
heavy clouds roll in furious masses over
head, accompanied by roaring thunder
bolts.
At intervals the dark clouds are broken
by silver streaks of lightning. They
appear impatient to get rid of their
burdens. The results of this anxiety
bring small gusts of wind, picking up a
leaf here and - there, carrying it to the
unknown regions. Those whiffs of wind
seem friendly as they slightly stir the
blades of waving grass, but gradually that
unseen power causes those gales to burst
into keen blasts.
From playful breezes they turn to
blustering and boisterous commotions.
The tall, stalwart pines bow their lofty
heads at the command of its power. The
flowers surrender their delicate blossoms
to its possession. The ocean waves gush
and pour upon the beaches. All nature
is obedient to the power which reveals
its strength in the winds.
With the clouds swelling forth,
thundering and lightning, and the wind
conquering all within its path, the scene
is set for the showers of water to burst
forth in freedom from the overloaded
clouds. Within the twinkling on an eye,
all vision is obstructed by the falling tor
rents of water. The little creeks become
raging rivers; the young plants are
jerked up by their tender roots and
carried away in the swift currents. The
fields of grain are beaten to the earth,
and all the world is drenched in rain.
With the force of the wind beating
the huge streams of water against the
stately mansion of the rich as well as the
poor, and destroying the magnificent
flower gardens of the huge estates, as
well as the neat garden plots in the back
yards of the poor, all the world is as
helpless as a newborn babe. This force
(Continued on Page 7)
Pace Six
Queen of The West
By
Paul Early
North, south, east and west—in each
direction from the summit of Pike’s Peak,
this great sentinel of strength and
grandeur and symbol of everlasting
nature in western Colorado, mountains,
valleys, rivers, lakes, highways and even
sky seem subjugated to her spell.
Prom many, many long hot miles across
the state. Pike’s Peak may be seen as
it rises majestically and without chal
lenge from the broad plain of Colorado.
There in the edge of the Rocky moun
tains, midget ranges surround her, bow
ing, yet pointing upward toward the
crown of clouds hovering around the
silent queen’s stately head. Fourteen
thousand and more feet she stands, every
foot adding to her assured position in
the West.
Why then should not the far-reaching
views from the snow-dotted top surpass
all imagination? Winding thirty miles
around, crossing and switching about like
a great endless snake, the path for puny
man’s vehicles of transportation finally
ends on top. There is no feeling of vic
tory, however, for the awe put into man’s
soul by God at such a height replaces
the natural feeling of conquest with one
of further wonder.
Then comes the culmination of all
aspirations entertained as one slowly
crawls up the dark red road, first through
beautiful gl)ens and forests of green
splendor, then more steeply on above the
line of vegetation, through the bleak
rolling mounds and mountain heights. All
life is left behind half-way up, and since
one’s eyes are kept instinctively forward
lest he fail to reach the top, that first
view from the rocky expanse of the sum
mit takes one’s breath away. “Look there,
and there, and there!” are the exclama
tions in rapid succession, after which one
is silent. Par to the east and down in the
valley is the great expanse of forest and
plain squared and drawn off by the pencil-
thin, insignificant white roads. Down the
slopes one sees the beginning of the for
est line and life. In every direction one
sees signs of many futile attempts to
beautify or change nature. What can that
foot-square town matter as the hills of
green and brown go rolling on in serene
disregard of white-marking highways and
match-like rails?
Disdaining the thought of even climb
ing the silly man-made tower at the peak
for a better view, every visitor stands
spellbound, looking and marvelling at
sights undreamed of. The world is at his
feet, though he is only a sparrow clinging
to the crown of the queen of it all, scarce
daring to move in awe of such glory.
Such is the magnificence of Pike’s Peak
—standing forever as queen of the west,
and casting a spell of awe upon all who
look on her.