Bloomington High School South, The Gothic, 1977, Page 161

Description:	The parachuteCathy ArmerWhile walking along the edge of the woods, thisreporter came across a man dragging his parachutebehind him. Well, he just wont follow me, the manexplained, so I had to put him on a leash.He hastened to point out that it is not a matter ofhumanities. The collar, its not too tight or nothin. Butyou know how irresponsible these dang-burned parachutes is—they gets real frisky when theres a wind.The parachute itself is snow white with a wide purplestripe. According to the man, Thats how I got him. Theproblem—there is one, y know—is washing him. Heaint nothin like your regular pet—hes no kitty cat norpuppy dog. Thing is, he just dont clean himself likethem housepets. After a reflective pause he added,Could be because he dont have a tongue—thatshow cats wash themselves—in fact, I betcha thats whyhe dont never stay too clean.The parachute has been up only once. He gets himself real quiet up there—I think he likes it, said theman, adding, Its better up in the air. You may thinkhaving a parachute is great big fun, but dragging himon a leash all over gets me tired—not that Im notstrong, but hes just like a little kid. In the air hes realquiet—real tranquil-like. I like it up in the air too.When asked if the parachute caused him much trouble, the man explained, Heck yes! Getting through allthem doors is hard enough—thats why I usually keephim outside. Elevators and such are a real big pain.Once I even got arrested—I aint ever heard of no lawwhere parachutes cant come into restaurants. Anyways, he was just a little careless—knocked over atable or two. But I was real proud of him. He didntsnitch no food or nothin bad.The relationship between the man and his parachuteis intense. I love him like he was one of my children.Its like some people love their horses—well, I love myparachute—were really close. He added, I think thisparachute is the best made even if he does get into trouble. You have to have faith in your friends—specially ifyoure up in the air with em.The sailorChessie BrockettSitting on the church step,Squinting at the sanguine sky,Sits the old man,Singing to himself.He is sparsely dressed,Sun-bronzed skinHanging loosely overLong slender bones.He has no shoes.His heels and toes areKnotted like ropes onA sailing ship.His eyes are silent seas,Placid from past years.Sadly subdued, his countenanceSuggests former strength.His arms crossed over his chest,Resting on his knees,He seems secluded, serene,At peace with himself.He sways with the waves,His scant gray locksTossing in the blissfulBreeze of yesterday.His passing is strangely quiet.He utters not a sound.The song of the sea lulls,As he dies sitting on the church step.OLfLocvzzAlexander ZaiIt is perfectIt has no faultsand it lives only to swingjoyously in the windIts every leaf burns with colorbut deep inside it flows in turmoilIt shows great strengthbut withers if probedYet it seeks to give only joyand sheds not a tear when plucked.Together we walkDebbie RobbinsTogether we walkfriends together—yet we are individualsTogether we walk—giving—sharing—trustingTogether we walk—laughing—crying—dreamingTogether we walk—reflecting together in the journey of living.Creativity 161H i—*.
Source:	http://cdm17129.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/hs-bloomsouth/id/996
Collection:	Bloomington High School South

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