Page 67 - YB1968

"T know a place where dreams are born, and time is never planned. " Sometimes it seems like we'll never grow up. We keep clapping our hands and believing in those dreams, and tomorrow is something that just isn't. We've been here forever already. The "Hill" is one hundred years old, so they say; but that's clock time. You know-minutes, hours, days, weeks, years. And the only certainty we have discovered is immutability. Classes, Grille, Open Parties, tests, Christmas, exams, semester break, and around again. Never·Never Land never changes, and the world spins madly on what- ever course it will. There is only one thing to be afraid of up here and most of us don', hear it 'til second semester Senior year. But it's there just the same, and maybe, now that we've reached the half-way mark, we should sit quietly for a moment and listen. The longer you listen the louder it gets. It's the sound of the big "T," and that doesn't stand for "Terror"- or maybe it does. Time doesn't stand and wait for us to look at it, and no matter how you add it up, we've only got two years left. No matter how hard we clap our hands, it's going to shimmer and disappear. And maybe all we'll have left in the end is a scrapbook filled with old newspaper clippings. 63