WOODLAND PATHS 



dom or ability is beyond our ken. On 

 the dark trunk of a pine was sitting the 

 spring's first specimen, so far as my ob- 

 servation goes, of butterfly life, an An- 

 tiopa vanessa, his mourning cloak so 

 closely folded that it made him invisible 

 against the pine-tree bark. As I drew 

 near he flipped into the air and sailed by, 

 beautiful in his tan-yellow border with its 

 spots of soft blue. 



I say he was on the pine bark, but I 

 did not see him there. For aught I know, 

 so well was he concealed, the tree opened 

 and let him out, then closed, that his 

 hiding place might not be revealed. I 

 would almost as sooa believe this as to 

 believe, what lepidopterists assure me is 

 true, that this frail creature lives through 

 the zero gales and deep snows of five 

 months of winter to come out in the first 



bright days of early spring unharmed. It 

 '62 



