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WINTER BUDS 



When the cold, steady north wind of autumn comes 

 down with the oppressive sweetness of a dirge, and 

 the withered leaves are torn away and hurried along 

 to their unknown lodgments in the furrowed ground, 

 it may soften the tragedy of their passing to reflect 

 that each leaf has been pushed aside and crowded off 

 in the active preparations of its coming successor. 

 Secure in all the protected angles, where the leaf 

 stems joined the twigs and smaller branches, the 

 little buds have been growing, carefully enclosing 

 in their diminutive forms an infinite variety of leaves 

 and flowers. That a tiny bud not as large as a pea 

 can contain a perfectly formed bunch of flowers 

 enfolded in equally perfect leaves is a revelation of 

 nature's strange, resourceful ways. There are buds 

 holding only a single leaf or flower, others with only 

 a male or a female flower, still others with both leaves 

 and flowers enfolded together, perfect in their 

 microscopic development. Here and there in late 

 autumn a few lonely leaves will be found partly 

 withered but still clinging to a twig or branch. If 

 they are examined it will be found that for some reason 

 the little buds that were to crowd them off have 

 failed to develop, while all about the scars where other 

 leaves have clung are almost covered by the little 

 thatched habitations of next season's foliage. 



