Bird screams! Three times With unrequited pain and hunger too Denies Apollo there Wings spread he falls a wounded dove in Fall, Adamant...toward its prey. Chariot rocks, runs over, this golden plated cup But does not spill. They do not yield to the cold of snowy fear That scorches down to earth. III. Day's end. A dead and legless thing lies along. Six talon marks Three above the mouth and three-pronged tongue Two everlasting and snowy stoic hills within the third Wait. And wait. Hot in the cold night. Starless. For the hawk cannot return in three days To find the serpent lying there. These two, these young, were looking up from play, And for their time of ecstasy, alone, In browning warmth a chariot, hanging low, Was not Appollo in the sky ....but Phaethon 4 THE LAST SPRING Nancy McLea At first, during that first spring, the grown-ups scoffed at us whenever we brought up the subject of Juanita and her magic. Except the wiser ones and they were few. As children close to nature, we were endowed with the very special gift of recognizing wisdom in adults or lack of wisdom. We soon learned to avoid those who were ignorant in the ways of our world, namely those who tried to make something sinister and not quite clean of Juanita and her magic. We came to keep track of the seasons by Juanita's visits to our town. Juanita's arrival came to mean spring; and spring came to mean Juanita and magic. The first time we saw her, she was getting out of her carriage near the weathered weighing shack at the deserted factory. This was our territory, and we momentarily resented the intrusion by an outsider. And she seemed so strange. We had never seen anyone dressed as she was dressed long, voluminous skirt embroidered with tarnished gold thread, green satin blouse with flowing sleeves, and a red, snug-fitting bolero studded with multicolored gems. She glanced our way, at the motley crowd that we were, a sidewise, a searching, birdlike glance. Then she smiled. From that moment on, we were her slaves. Never had we seen a flashing, whole-hearted smile such as that one. We were used to the weary, absent minded, half-smiles of our mothers as they set aside their flatirons or polishing cloths to dole out a few sugar-dusted cookies. Juanita's smile made us feel somehow equal; and we basked in the warmth of it as we began gradually to notice other things about this fascinating creature the swinging gold loops dangling from her ears, the incredibly dark, smoldering eyes, luxuriously lash-fringed, the thick, lively mane which cascaded heavily, darkly across her fragile shoulders and down her back. And there was the carriage a real, honest-to-goodness carriage, with rosy plush seats, intricately carved heart and flowers motifs, gilt angels with tarnished wings. Her horse, an aging dapple gray, was thick in the legs and rump, but nevertheless had a regal air about him. Juanita spoke with the hint of an accent which we couldn't identify, which we accepted and did not wonder about. She graciously permitted us to climb in and out of the carriage, to explore the intricate curlicue designs 5