PROSERPINE'S MESSAGE 



(Written during the spring-like days of October, 1921, when the 

 prolonged drought had been broken by the rains following the 

 equinoctial gales.) 



SOME happy goldfinches flew twittering to 

 the loosened thistle-heads on the sward of 

 the promontory. Their wings fluttered as 

 they took the seeds; they were timorous of 

 alighting on the down, such a soft couch it 

 was, too; their lives were wild and restless. 

 Soon the flock rose and went to other 

 haunts. The brief visitation gave me time 

 to observe the crimson faces, the yellow 

 bars on the wings they were gone, and I 

 was alone with the spirit of the apple blossom 

 and the blue sky. On the trees of the 

 inland orchards the ungathered apples were 

 ready to fall. Goldfinches always associate 

 themselves in my mind with the May month, 



when their nests are in the apple trees, but 

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