THE OUTDOOR WORLD 



459 



tops, the alto brandies, the tenor fences, 

 the basso profundo of the frog pond. 



The patches and clusters of the earli- 

 est flowers blend their whiteness with 

 that of the snow. The flushing of the 

 willow twigs is the result of nature's first 

 flourish of her paint pot — just a light 

 brushing in anticipation of deeper tints 

 and colors of later spring and summer. 

 Idle scattered notes finally blend in an 

 anthem of joy. 



my! Oh, my!" But what was there in 

 the catkins to produce such a mental ex- 

 plosion ? Only the key that turned the 

 lock that opened the gates of memory 

 through which the elderly man entered 

 alone into the King Solomon mines of an 

 almost forgotten boyhood. 



Only some fuzzy willow catkins, and 

 yet they softly brushed away the cares 

 and perplexities of the whole day. 



"Peace, perfect peace," they said, much 



THE WILLOW 



CATKINS, "ONLY PUSSY WILLOWS'— HOW TRITE; HOW 

 STUPENDOUSLY MIRACULOUS. 



And the busiest culler of it all is this 

 sprite, this revelry and ecstacy that we 

 call life. 



Only the graceful, peaceful alder cat- 

 kins above the marsh, beautiful enough 

 to make an elderly man scream — no, he 

 wanted to cry aloud but he resisted the 

 temptation toward such hysterical expres- 

 sions of delight in the presence of his 

 fellows in the trolley car and all that they 

 heard from him was a compromise, "My, 



better and more effectively than the 

 sonorous singer who sang of deatn. 



Only the opening maple buds, stimu- 

 lated by the sunshine, yet they were in- 

 centive to increased life and activity. In 

 them was the joyful suggestion that even 

 in their brief season they are permitted 

 to be helpful of future generations of 

 buds and blossoms. Shall any member of 

 our great human brotherhood be less than 

 a shrub or a tree? 



