Seeing Things 



ing brightly down the winding road- 

 ways. Most of my evening has been 

 spent watching the flying flakes settling 

 silently in the leafless wood. On such 

 a night old Santa used to ride, and 

 children tucked away in soft, warm 

 feather beds dreamed of the coming 

 of their one great day of all the year. 

 I have forgotten all the gifts one boy 

 received one Christmas morning, but 

 I know there was a sled with white 

 swan heads in front, gay with paint, 

 and carrying on its back the legend 

 "Snow Bird." And it lived up to its 

 name through many a joyous hour 

 upon the hills. And skates! Yes, the 

 kind you used to see wood, shod with 

 steel, curved up in front. Out south 

 of town there was a marsh where 

 muskrats had their homes, where boys 

 could find red cheeks and great ad- 

 venture! The river, too, was near, and 

 up and down its winding course, where 

 the willows, oaks and sycamores were 

 waiting for the spring, a noisy lot 



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