Winter. These are
the months "when the dull clouds shake their mantles and fleck the world
with snow," albeit in Kansas there are but few murky clouds, while the
visits of the beautiful snow are like angel calls. There are not many
winter days when
cattle do not browse on the dry, sweet prairie grass. The farmer's plow
is often busy. Out-door work in country and city are rarely
interrupted. In early March, sometimes in February, the songs are heard
of the advance guard of returning
winter tourists, who are glad to exchange the
fragrance of
the magnolia for the wild rose and the goldenrod. The meadow lark
begins to reconnoiter, the robin to flirt with his sweetheart, the
woodpecker peeps out of his door and flutters around his front yard, the
black crow announces his readiness to prey upon the newly-planted corn,
the brilliant crocus and the delicate cowslip lift their tiny heads
from the yet cold earth, singing: "We are here on time; the others are coming." Spring bows winter into retirement, and dons her robes of green.