4 SILVER FIELDS 



swords and spears of cold that no armor of wool 

 or fur can ward off, and from every vantage- 

 ground of ridge and drift stream the white ban- 

 ners of snow. Then clouds come drifting across 

 the sky, first a few, then so many that they get 

 into a jam against some star or mountain some- 

 where to the northward, and in a few hours all the 

 blue is clogged with a dull gray mass. As the later 

 coming legions of the wind arrive, the temper of 

 their weapons is softened and their keen edge 

 blunted. The snow loses its crispness and takes 

 the imprint of a foot like wax. 



We have a midwinter thaw, the traditional 

 January thaw a little belated; and presently it 

 begins to rain pellets of lead out of the leaden sky, 

 rain that has none of the pleasant sounds of sum- 

 mer showers. There is no merry patter on the 

 snow-covered roof, no lively clatter on intercept- 

 ing green leaves nor splashes of dimpled pools; 

 only windows and weather-boards resound to its 

 sullen beat. When, after some hours of rainfall, 

 the snow has become softened down to the earth, 

 so that when one walks in it his tracks show a 

 gray, compacted slush at the bottom, the wind 

 lulls and veers to the northward and patches of 

 blue are opened in the world's low, opaque roof, 

 windows through which the sun shines upon some 

 fields and mountain peaks, making them whiter 

 than the whiteness of snow. 



