Newspapers / Mars Hill University Student … / April 1, 1948, edition 1 / Page 8
Part of Mars Hill University Student Newspaper / About this page
This page has errors
The date, title, or page description is wrong
This page has harmful content
This page contains sensitive or offensive material
Comes The Spring wood ■ id th >rs wil ng, Fr uid Ja ogram sed CC s HUl; eta Ki e Wak« of Phi meinb hosen, Mars H [Hans w ighest oris Pee d Rayn ler stud icted laa earch ed 1 A^ When the days become warm enough for me to be comfortable with only a light-weight coat over a skirt and sweater, and a robin can be seen here and there on the yet lifeless grass or upon a skele ton limb of an apple tree, I want to return southward to meet the oncoming springtime in the rolling farm and forested land of Ala bama. I want to arise early with the farmer as he goes out upon the field in the chilly morning, that is soon to be warmed by the sun ris ing above the still pines in the east, and to live the day with him. As the plow digs deep into the soil, I see the gray cover crop soon rolled beneath the rich, chocolate brown earth, enriching it for the planting that is to fol low. Into the fresh-, cool air the hardy green oats that have stood still during the cold winter stretch their heads upward in the adjoin ing field. The odor of smoke comes to me from, the burning sage along the fence row. The schoolboy of nine years rushes off the rumbling, dusty school bus, breathless, excited at having seen the plows and their teams moving to and fro in the field as he had passed by. With a huge piece of gingerbread in his hand, the lad is seen running across the newly turned soil with his brown bird pup chasing at his heels, leaping up now and then for a crumb. He sits down and re moves his dirt-filled shoes. As the plow comes nearer, he is seen trot ting along behind, begging to be allowed to take over the plow; for he has not yet learned what it means to trudge all day up and down the seemingly endless rows with the sun overhead burning the very blood within the body. I see him, his head hardly reaching above the plow handles and his little white, yet tender, feet bounc ing up and down in the furrow as he tries desperately to keep up with the fast moving team. I want to joke with the old Negro wom an as I help her hang the wet, HILLTOP—PAGE EIGHT flapping clothes upon the line. I want to sit on the stool in the big kitchen along with the colored hands as they hungrily eat, that I may enjoy again their conver sations, as I did in my childhood. When the cool night comes, I imagine myself back again in my old, high-ceiling bedroom with my bed pulled near the south window and my elbows upon the window sill. The moonlight reflected from the windows of the old, abandoned church seems, at first, to come from dim lamps within the build ing; and the tombs stand white and noble in the community ceme tery just beyond. I can hear the sound of a feed bucket being lick ed by a cow that had been reluc tant to be driven in from the in creasingly green pastures. The horse is bumping around in his narrow stall. The three never- sleeping geese stroll across the lawn in the moonlight. There in the early-blossomed red-bud tree outside my window a mocking bird sings a night song to his mate; and from the creek, whose moss- filled waters, fiowing cold and fresh from the health-giving sul phur spring, cut a crystal, curving path through the green carpet of the pasture and then quickly hide within the wooded areas, I hear By Mamie Lou McCrory the low moaning of the old bull frogs joined by younger voices. The fragrance of the purple pe tunia blossoms in the window box beneath my window fills the air, and I begin falling sleepily, peace fully from my elbows to be lost in dreams that are real. A Summer’s Morn The morning’s twilight reigned about me; Slowly the darkness vanished in the lighted air. Silent awe filled the growing country side; Then, the mockingbird vocalized the morning. The patient cattle drank in the cooling breeze, Ere a scorching sun sent its rays across the trees. A late rising cock intruded its melodious song Into a savory early summer’s morning. The air now became filled with sounds of an awakening world: The cattle were lowing, the dogs barking, A tractor awoke, a farmer boy whistled. An energetic but peaceful attitude prevailed As eternal nature smiled in all greatness. —By Don Jackson. E S HILL ^
Mars Hill University Student Newspaper
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
April 1, 1948, edition 1
8
Click "Submit" to request a review of this page. NCDHC staff will check .
0 / 75