ACCORDING TO SEASON 



Winter 



birds 



Snow- 

 bunting in 

 Forty- 

 eighth 



Street 



the snowy fields, their jet-black bodies thrown in 

 relief against the blue sky and the white hill-side. 



Occasionally I discover a hawk circling high 

 overhead. Its slow, majestic evolutions are full 

 of poetic grandeur. I feel sure the hawk exults 

 in its own grace and power, it lingers so long 

 and lovingly on its marvellous curves. 



That chickadees, nuthatches, woodpeckers, 

 even robins and bluebirds and a number of less 

 common species are with us all or a part of the 

 winter, as the books tell us, I do not doubt, but I 

 rarely see any of them before March. In some 

 sheltered spots they must wear out the nipping 

 days and nights, venturing now and then into the 

 barnyard or upon the doorstep for scattered grain 

 or kindly crumbs and scraps. 



Once or twice I have noticed a flock of juncoes 

 in the city back-yard, driven to town, I suppose, 

 for supplies. The only snow-bunting I ever saw 

 was on West Forty-eighth Street, in New York 

 City, where it had joined a group of English spar- 

 rows and was foraging in the gutter as contented- 

 ly as though it were not more at home in Arctic; 

 regions. 



In the country in winter man seems to be al- 

 most as inactive as beasts and birds. If it were, 

 not for the smoke that drifts from its chimney the 

 farm-house would appear deserted. Occasionally 



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