 |
| Winter |
The persistence and readiness of life is seen in a
thousand ways, as we note the way that the small herbs are forming their
foot leaves in rich rosets on the ground; the five-finger, the evening
primrose, the robin's plantain, the saxifrage, the various asters, the
mullein. One never mentions the grasses and the rushes, the flags and
the sedges, which are expected and sure,—yet are these not the perennial
evidences of continuing impulse and vigour? Note, too, how the plants
flower anew under the encouragement of the rains and warm suns,—how the
bygone asters and golden-rods and mayweeds start forth with new flowers
and even groups of flowers. One may find now pretty nooks in the
pastures where there are many dandelions in bloom—dandelions which arise
from the seed plants of the spring. The branching yellow violet and the
branching white are now occasionally found, and the common blue hooded
violet of the meadows. Black-eyed Susan and ox-eye daisy start forth
frankly upon the autumn air, sure that
they are wanted. The wreath golden-rod is quite a common adornment of
the forest paths. Rarely there is a fringed gentian,—very rarely.
And the fragrances of the forest,—that general
woodsy scent which fills all their aisles, the rich bouquet of the fox
grapes, the peculiar evanescence of the witch
hazel, the balsamic odours of pine and hemlock—these add so much to the
charm of the earth, far from the purlieus of men. With these belong the
slight, subdued, musical whispers of the mountain sparrow; some stray
warblers not yet able to fling themselves away from the charm of our
woods; the juncos and the cheery chickadees; and over the wide landscape
the crow's sagacious observations.
