MINSTREL WEATHER 



Christmas midnight wear a restless look. 

 Rutted paths answer harshly to the step. 

 Delayed snow is a menace in the air, but 

 lands beyond the cities would be grateful 

 should it hasten, bringing safety to the 

 soil and winter peace. Yet snow is a be- 

 trayer, a sheet of paper upon which the 

 feet of rabbit, mink, and fox write a guide 

 to their dwellings and to the whole plan 

 of their days. 



Snow for Christmas there must be on 

 the lighted trees indoors, on our far- 

 scattered, similar cards. But save as a 

 convenience to the reindeer and a com- 

 pliment to their driver, who cannot create 

 his stocking stock unless he is snowbound, 

 and who must feel sadly languid as he 

 tears through Florida heavens, city people 

 would quite willingly manage with alum. 

 Early in school life, however, comes the 

 dangerous knowledge that nothing is so 

 easy to draw as Christmas Eve: a white 

 hillside, a path of one unchanging curve, 

 a steeple or a chimney with smoke, a fir 

 tree or a star. Thus snow eases art for 

 the credulous who think it white. Glitter- 

 ing under starlight, shadowed with purple, 

 lemon, or deep blue as sunset turns to 



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