WOODLAND PATHS 



already its buds are eager to be up and 

 open. The linear root leaves of aster and 

 goldenrod sit snug and green, growing a 

 bit, but in no hurry to appear above the 

 brown vegetation of last year. Their 

 watch comes late, and there is no reason 

 for them to be stirring thus early. And so 

 the growth of lush green leaves is pushing 

 up all over the dooryard of the old-time 

 settler getting ahead of the lazy wood 

 grasses that have hardly begun to put 

 out tiny spears that eventually will stab 

 through the old fog and help the others 

 to make a new tapestry carpet for the 

 empty woodland spaces. 



Loveliest of all these now, and, indeed, 

 the most germane to the spot, is the mul- 

 lein. All winter long it has sat serene and 

 self-sufficient, under the snow, armor- 

 encased in pellucid ice, or in the bare, bitter 

 nights when the stars of heaven were one 

 150 



