

CHAPTER III 



A CHAPTER OF THINGS TO SEE THIS SUMMER 



THE dawn, the breaking dawn ! I know noth- ( 

 ing lovelier, nothing fresher, nothing newer, 

 purer, sweeter than a summer dawn. I am 

 just back from one from the woods and cornfields ' 

 wet with dew, the meadows and streams white withi 

 mist, and all the world of paths and fences running'; 

 off into luring spaces of wavering, lifting, beckon-* ' 

 ing horizons where shrouded forms were moving and , 

 hidden voices calling. By noontime the buzz-saw of 

 ',* the cicada will be ripping the dried old stick of this 



August day into splinters and sawdust. No one could f { 

 /imagine that this midsummer noon at 90 in the^ 

 I shade could have had so Maylike a beginning. 



i it 

 II 



\ 



I said in "The Spring of the Year" that you 3 ! 

 ! should see a farmer ploughing, then a few weeks later ,' 



the field of sprouting corn. Now in July or August ; 

 - you must see that field in silk and tassel, blade and / 

 stalk standing high over your head. 



You might catch the same sight of wealth in a cot- * ,; 

 I ton-field, if cotton is " king" in your section ; or in a A. ( 



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