airth?' 'Noomone hay,' sez I, pooty bresk, for he was allus hank- 

 erin' 'round in hayin'. 'Nawthin' of the kine,' sez he. 'My leetle 

 Huldy's breath,' sez I ag'in.' 'You're a good lad,' sez he, his eyes 

 sort of riplin' like, for he lost a babe onc't about her age 'the best of 

 perfooms is just fresh air, fresh air,' sez he, emphysizin', 'athout no 

 mixture.' " And that is worth thinking of. All odors the winds bear 

 are defective as compared v/ith the utter freshness of the moving airs 

 themselves. "Jest fresh air," what an exhilarant that is. Drinking 

 water spouting fresh from mountain snow 

 drifts, and the blowing of clean air in the 

 race, and the making your piayer to God 

 when life grows hard or glad are not these 

 apart from all things else and allow of no 

 comparisons. Similes are lifeless here. And 

 the breath of a wind after a rain! Wind is 

 unspeakable for music and odors. What a 

 happy fate to be associated with such recollec- 

 tions. If man or woman might hope in com- 

 ing years, when far beyond the sight of 

 eyes or hearing of the ears, to stay sweet 

 memories in hearts which could not forget 

 them, what could human heart ask more? 

 And I have known such folks. The mention 

 of their names makes me think of sunlit fields. 

 All sweet things lie adjacent to their person- 

 alities, just as trees and shade and gurgling 

 brooks and trailing clouds and sublime soli- 

 tudes and what seems the ragged frontiers of the world lie adjacent to 

 huge mountains. 



Winds are fortunate to be the carriers of aromas and music; to 

 come freighted with the lilac's breath and the happy voices of happy 

 women s laughter. But I do not hesitate to confess that the rarest 

 wind I have ever experienced is blown from Kansas prairies on summer 

 twilights. About midway in Kansas, east and west, is this wind in 

 perfection. Nothing equals it. I have loved winds blown from briny 

 seas and from the emerald deserts of great lakes and the St. Lawrence 

 dreaming northward like a drifting ship, and from Alp and Sierra, and 

 my belief still holds that for unutterable tenderness, part wind, part 

 spirit, for poetry whose threads can never be unbraided, these Kansas 



105 



A SINGING BROOK 



