WINTER SUN 



trike the Marlborough pike, as a trio of us did that 

 told February Sunday we walked from Washington 

 to Pumpkintown and back. 



A short sketch of this pilgrimage is a fair sample 

 of these winter walks. 



The delight I experienced in making this new ac- 

 quisition to my geography was, of itself, sufficient to 

 atone for any aches or weariness I may have felt. 

 The mere fact that one may walk from Washington 

 to Pumpkintown, was a discovery I had been all 

 these years in making. I had walked to Sligo, and 

 to the Northwest Branch, and had made the Falls of 

 the Potomac in a circuitous route of ten miles, com- 

 ing suddenly upon the river in one of its wildest 

 passes ; but I little dreamed all the while that there, 

 in a wrinkle (or shall I say furrow ?) of the Mary- 

 land hills, almost visible from the outlook of the 

 bronze squaw on the dome of the Capitol, and just 

 around the head of Oxen Run, lay Pumpkintown. 



The day was cold but the sun was bright, and the 

 foot took hold of those hard, dry, gritty Maryland 

 roads with the keenest relish. How the leaves of 

 the laurel glistened! The distant oak woods sug- 

 gested gray-blue smoke, while the recesses of the 

 pines looked like the lair of Night. Beyond the 

 District limits we struck the Marlborough pike, 

 vhich, round and hard and white, held squarely to 

 ihe east and was visible a mile ahead. Its friction 

 brought up the temperature amazingly and spurred 

 tfie pedestrians into their best time. As I trudged 

 \long, Thoreau's lines came naturally to mind : 



