6 



THE FALL OF THE YEAR 



plumes and parachutes that go Hoating and Hyin 



s and ballooning. 

 fy A 



" Over the fields where the daisies grow, 



Over the flushing clover, 

 A host of the tiniest fairies go 

 Dancing, balancing to and fro, 



Rolling and tumbling over. 



" Quivering, balancing, drifting by, 



Floating in sun and shadow 

 Maybe the souls of the flowers that die 

 Wander, like this, to the summer sky 



Over a happy meadow." 



So they do. They wander away to the sky, butj 

 they come down again to the meadow to make itV 

 happy next summer with new flowers; for these are ? 

 the seed-souls of thistles and daisies and fall dande- ., 

 lions seeking new bodies for themselves in the warm \[ 

 soil of Mother Earth. 



Mother Earth ! How tender and warm and abund-<f; 

 ant she is! As I lie here under the oak, a child in^ 

 her arms, I see the thistle-down go floating by, and^ 

 on the same laggard breeze comes up from the maple 

 swamp the odor of the sweet pepper-bush. A little 

 flock of chickadees stop in the white birches and 

 quiz me. "Who are you?" "Who are you-you-, 

 you?" they ask, dropping down closer and closer to 

 get a peek into my face. 



Perhaps they don't know who I am. Perhaps I 

 don't know who they are. They are not fish hawks, 

 of course ; but neither am I an alligator or a pump- 



