108 IN SILENT WOODS 



familiar. Seek out mimic landscapes of a country 

 where stately Brakes and Royal Ferns are trees, 

 various Wintergreens are shrubs, the various mosses, 

 grass, crumbling stumps and lichened branches, 

 ruined castles, and squirrel, lizard, white-footed 

 mouse and whippoorwill the inhabitants, 



It is airless in the deep Summer woods, at once 

 cool and oppressive. You push back your hair from 

 a damp forehead and think of the open places, 

 the glen where Time o' Year's waterway rushes 

 through, a cool breeze always following in its wake, 

 and you wonder why you did not follow the banks 

 where from time to time you could at least dip 

 your hands or handkerchief in cool water. The 

 restless push of Spring has passed. You no longer 

 fear that some long -sought flower picture of the 

 season's moving panorama will slip by unseen. The 

 white flower-balls of the Four-leaved Milkweed 

 close at hand whisper of the sun -hot fields where 

 live its sturdy kin, where even now Summer is 

 holding its flower dance in open revelry, the Ma- 

 gician lending all the colors of his palette for the 

 costuming. Then the wind comes backward to 

 the wood and for a time the eye leaves the search 

 for broad effects and turns toward detail. 



For the Summer woods one must have human 



