And there before us, in all its morning glory, lay the great city of
Saint Francis. It was just emerging out of fog. The smoke and steam
rising, touched into color by the sun, softened it into a great mystery
with forms and hulks coming into relief through the mists. For a moment
it wasn't a city but a magnificent singing of the morning.
In a dull, inert way I suppose all of us, the grownup people, glimpsed
some of its beauty. But we were all intent upon the business of the
day - we didn't look out very far - .
But the little black girl who didn't know any better, the little black
girl raised her two arms above her head and exclaimed in a high, joyous
child voice - "GEE WHIZ!"
Western Yarns
The men around the corner store at home were forever telling stories
about the big yarns that Were told in the West. One of the favorites
was that ancient one of the Western town that was so healthy they had to
kill a man to start a graveyard.
Having been brought up on this tradition of Western yarns, I have been
surprised since living here never to have heard a single story that
didn't sound perfectly reasonable. But it has dawned on me recently that
the "Yarns" are true. Therefore, they are no longer yarns, but facts.
Here is an oil boom story I heard first-hand the other day. I believe
it, but you couldn't get those men around the corner store to believe it - .
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