FEBRUARY IN BERKELEY 



EASON of frost and sunshine, of chill rains 

 and budding trees, of California's mild win- 

 ter mingling with the tempered air of spring 

 — fair season of change and prophecy, when 

 the grass grows fresh upon the hillside and 

 the birds are once more inspired to song — I 

 salute thee with reverence and delight! 



In February the air is full of expectancy, and nature seems 

 busy with mighty preparations for a new year of toil. The 

 spiders come forth from their hiding-places and run nimbly over 

 the land. The field-mice and wood-rats are at work in their 

 runways amid the grass of the hillsides or the underbrush of 

 the canons. The ground-squirrels emerge from their tunneled 

 retreats to sport in the open fields. Earth and air are pregnant 

 with new life, soon to be born in all the glory and splendor of 

 spring. 



It is at such times that we are most forcibly reminded of 

 the unceasing change that is ever in progress in nature. Each 

 day brings forth something new, year in and year out. At 

 times the transition is more or less rapid or conspicuous, but it 

 never ceases. Like the waters of the ocean with their per- 

 petual ebb and flow, so all that lives has its periods of rise and 

 fall, and February marks the incoming tide of life. 



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