A WINTER MOOD 225 



In groups and lines straggling to the 

 meadow are pines, spruces, and firs. 

 In the wild fields the cedars, looking 

 so black in the distance, grow warm- 

 hued on nearer acquaintance, and on 

 the ground the juniper bushes seem like 

 the nests of the obsolete dodo. 



Black and white winter, are you both 

 flowerless and songless? It may seem 

 so, but there is both music and colour; 

 for the tones of winter are as really 

 distinctive as those of all other seasons. 

 If you search, as you have done each 

 day, in the spring, summer, or autumn, 

 you will find constantly a new beauty, 

 a fresh surprise. For birds, you may 

 see hereabouts, upwards of thirty 

 species between late November and 

 early March; not all in one day, or 

 one month even, but scattered accord- 

 ing to food and to changes of tempera- 

 ture. The juncos and snowflakes, birds 



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