How simple a man’s desire, a Pasquaney boy’s dream. The splendor of birdsong, the motherly cradle of my bunk, the bliss of waking up 30 minutes before Sunday’s late reveille, and peacefully sliding back into my dream about the lamp-bearing jungle-fowl keeping their fatherly watch over the hillside… when suddenly the flames disappeared and the jungle-fowl screeched. Perverse and foolish oft I strayed, robed in the blooming garb of dreams… a gigantic gleaming orb lit by the sun (the moon), growing larger! LARGER! It howled toward the hillside with a screech. I sat up in my bunk screaming – not only did I witness Camp Pasquaney being obliterated by lunar stones, I also experienced the horror of no late reveille on a Sunday. Doug Camp disquieted my slumber and left me in anguish. Following such strange events I prepared for the usual morning… but something was off, a strange spell cursed my day (perhaps cast by the jungle-fowl). I brushed my hands and washed my teeth. I felt separated like an intercolumniation (the space between columns). As I entered Memorial Dining Hall I had flashbacks to my dreams of lunar terror, made worse by the nutritiously empty french toast sticks, but subsidized by Hutchins Yogurt and Granola.

No matter, for I remembered the day – SUNDAY – and he who would valiant be face all disaster, and I remembered my first avowed intent: to be a pilgrim. A pilgrim of the hills. A pilgrim that shirks no duty and fears no evil and fears no cold showers. I cleansed my mind and body with pure ivory for the means of grace, and my estate (bunk) for the hope of glory. Swift and fearless to action, Jack Anderson and the warriors of Inspection began their inspecting to prepare us for something… something unknown… My suspicion: a lunar stone inundation. Side by side I walked, traversing with my fellow pilgrims. Cast upon this hillside thine wonderful song, was this it? Chapel? Mr. Michael bespoke:


Then to side with truth is noble,

When we share her wretched crust,

Ere her cause bring fame and profit,

And ’tis prosperous to be just.


At Memorial Dining Hall again (lunch), as I engulfed pork, visions of lunar stone fall became vivid! Why am I daydreaming? Why am I going crazy?? Why is there no milk at lunch??? My mind is so clouded with visions of moon stones that I could no longer see clearly, when all of a sudden, a sudden cacophonous uproar broke my spell. In that moment something took over my mind, body, and estate, the thing the inspectors prepared us for: “MOON ROCKS!” I exclaimed full-mouthedly. How do I begin to describe? A wretched crust?! A bountiful core?! Indeed! The mizzling burst of sugar and creamé and dairy and deliciousness (sugar). How does one continue their day after moon rocks? In the motherly cradle of a bunk.

And so the day continued until it was thoroughly finished. We sang our phrases to the jungle fowl. We watched the golden sunset that lit the dreamy lamps of the jungle-fowl. They be there at our sleeping and give us peace in our hearts at the end of the day.

Here endeth the lesson.