Early August 



On the hillside the velvety crimson 

 plumes of the staghorn sumach toss up- 

 ward in the pride of fruition. Here the 

 soft cushion of the pasture thistle yields a 

 pleasant fragrance, and violet patches are 

 made in the grass by the incomplete 

 heads of the self-heal. Against the dark 

 oval leaves of the cockspur-thorn lie red- 

 cheeked, apple-like fruit. Currant-like 

 clusters of choke-cherries hang from the 

 thicket. The birds are twittering with 

 joy at the feast which the black-cap 

 bushes are yielding, and a song-sparrow 

 flies to the top of a red-osier dogwood, 

 which is heavy with its burden of white 

 berries, and gives vent to a few bubbling 

 notes with an ecstatic energy which 

 threatens almost to burst its little body. 



109 



