Ill 



BEECH WOODS IN MAY 



IT was well along towards the end of the month 

 before my cherished plan to visit the beech woods 

 was carried out. There were so many growing 

 things to take note of, so many paths to re-explore, 

 so many spring openings to attend, one hardly 

 knew which way to turn. With a fixed purpose 

 and a trusty alpenstock, I started. There would be 

 need of both, for the way to the beech woods lay 

 along steep and rocky banks, little frequented by 

 unattended women folk. 



Leaving the street just where it changed from 

 a city thoroughfare to a country road, I followed 

 a most inviting path which no sooner had me well 

 committed to its leadership than it brought me face 

 to face with an impertinent wire fence. The path 

 slipped under with difficulty and was away. I could 

 see to some distance where it skirted along between 

 the edge of an unknown ravine and a wide field of 

 wheat. Brown butterflies dodged in and out among 

 the low shrubs. The sun and the south wind 

 played hide-and-seek with the waving grain. Long 

 I gazed on that fair sight! Then I looked at the 

 wire fence, tested its tension with an impatient 

 toe, considered for a moment, and concluded that 

 I could get down into the gorge just as easily by 

 some other route. A clump of sumachs along the 



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