Glenwood Brook 



Stewart H. Burnham 

 Hudson Falls, N. Y. 



The night of Christmas day, — a heavy rain lowers the heavy 

 snowball of preceding days. Going farther than the wood's 

 margin, I see where the Cottontail came out of one den, made a half 

 dozen steps and then into another; evidently liking not the rain 

 and leaving dirty tracks on the snow. The water from the pasture 

 pondholes flows down into the sinkhole — a musical stream. 



In the hemlock dell, Glenwood brook flows fullbanked and I may 

 not cross it even if I wished. Up in the woods so serene, — the 

 pretty, small hemlocks still laden with snow ! the Glenwood cascade 

 so musical ! the leaning yellow birch with its curling bark and old 

 seed catkins! 



In the brook frozen in the ice, when the water runs over the ice, 

 little sticks sway back and forth merrily and a leaf attached to a 

 bending twig touches the flowing water and rocks and rocks. 



It is a fairy vision — so beautifully dressed for winter. Of all 

 the seasons of the year, Glenwood brook is prettiest times like this 

 — altho 'tis fair to view on the days of other months. 



How the brook rejoices to be doing its work again! How good 

 it is for the stones to be refreshed and worn smooth ! 



Does not the Chickadee or Nuthatch abide in the hollow trunk 

 by the cascade, which last year was used by the Woodpeckers? 

 Surely the birds love such woodland spots better than we. 



I was born and reared on the banks of Glenwood brook. 



Even now I am discovering its great beauty as hundreds of 

 young hemlocks are becoming trees along its banks. 



Its music is getting into my veins. Altho I should some day 

 be far away, yet the story the brook tells will never be forgotten. 



Things of Nature, even though they have no tongues to speak, 

 as we, do inspire and influence our lives and our endeavors. 

 Happy brook, sing on! Dance on 3^our way to Champlain Lake 

 and the great St. Lawrence and on to the mighty sea. 



So't 



