Birds and Seasons in My Garden 7 



they have mostly toppled over since you left in the fall, and my shingle 

 houses are quite as good as the fence-post and telegraph-pole lodgings of 

 which you are so fond." 



The Bluebirds fluttered over to a lilac bush and, with backs toward 

 the sky and breast to earth, instantly merged in their surroundings, and 

 became practically invisible as they settled for a rest. Then, as I looked 

 and listened, a Song Sparrow piped up down by the spring and the clear 

 call "Spring o' the Year" came up from the Grackle-plowed meadow, where 

 some old stalks of buckwheat still dangled seeds about the edges. 



"Mother Earth is surely turning over in bed," I said, "even though 

 she is not quite ready to throw off her covers and awake." The Bluebirds 

 have come to us, and tomorrow, perhaps, the Brown Creepers, Tree Spar- 

 rows and White-throats, that have been with us since December, will move 

 on, and some one to the northward will look out of the window, and, tak- 

 ing heart even as I did, say, "See, the spring migration has begun!" 



Yet, without the birds, February would be only the disagreeable long- 

 short month of broken promises. Surely, at this time of year in my 

 garden, the birds make the season worth the living. 



