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The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, May 04, 1913, Image 20

Image and text provided by University of California, Riverside; Riverside, CA

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85066387/1913-05-04/ed-1/seq-20/

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SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL
■■■ SSI I - w- si, vsssi i st.liissis» ii sita^atM
j/MAZiNE SECTION
, W4 1933
"THE LAST LAKE"
is the realm of the twilight, where the shadow family,dwells, with eternal
THIS as its star boarder. - twilight, where the shadow family dwells, with eternal
calm as its star boarder.
\ . :•! : And all the shadows live there. The robust amazon that stretches her inky
•x tresses to soften the : worker's noonday rest ; the courtly, shades that bend their supple
lines in profound solicitude with each-passing .breeze ; the fluttering, fussy maiden aunt
. _ shadows that rustle around the outskirts and see that all the household is running
smoothly; the rounded, motherly shadows; the : gray and experienced fatherly shadows, i
,and the elder son and daughter quiet of "demeanor, and in conduct the echo of
their elders. ; - ."*'.•-../■*■.'.'. ''-'.-, V;. % v -:' '' ,■'' \'
There are gentle, girlish shadows, whose touch is a caress; beetling, bristly
"little brother shadows that cuddle the coots and ducks in their laps;; shadows warm
and shadows cool ; some purple as the coat of Nero, some ruddy as the cheek of labor— :
and the greatest and the least of them constantly spreading : their banquet of rest. /.
* x You are welcome there with your tired brows. Come, plunge them deep into
" : the cool blue under that lily island. The discords of the downtown dazzle, the jangle
of the city glare, lose- their talons, and peace floods your spirit so real that you expect
to open your eyes upon cool hospital- walls with the sweet Sister pending over you. ;
T Here the light is an alien, the unbidden guest, and the sparkles that flit across
i. the amethyst calm of the little lake seem naughty schoolboys in a lady's garden. -- - •" "'
Here "all of the animal kingdom of Golden Gate park seek their rest in the
shadow sweetened silences, where the, rustling of the. reeds brings us to our tiptoes
' as surely as the finger on the 1 mother's lips in this" habitat of the holy hush.
? CHARLES H. DICKSON.

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