A YEAR IN THE FIELDS 



to need the slanting rays of the evening 

 sun to give it the right mellowness and 

 tenderness, or the right perspective. It is, 

 perhaps, a little too bald in the strong white 

 light of the earlier part of the day ; but 

 when the faint four-o'clock shadows begin 

 to come out, and we look through the green 

 vistas and along the farm lanes toward the 

 west, or out across long stretches of fields 

 above which spring seems fairly hovering, 

 just ready to alight, and note the teams 

 slowly plowing, the brightened mould-board 

 gleaming in the sun now and then, — it is 

 at such times we feel its fresh, delicate 

 attraction the most. There is no foliage on 

 the trees yet ; only here and there the red 

 bloom of the soft maple, illuminated by the 

 declining sun, shows vividly against the 

 tender green of a slope beyond, or a willow, 

 like a thin veil, stands out against a leaf- 

 less wood. Here and there a little meadow 

 watercourse is golden with marsh marigolds, 

 or some fence border, or rocky streak of 

 neglected pasture land, is thickly starred 

 with the white flowers of the bloodroot. 

 The eye can devour a succession of land- 

 scapes at such a time ; there is nothing that 

 sates or entirely fills it, but every spring 



54 



