THE MAGIC OF THE SEASONS 



141 



know that, according to Hertfordshire folk lore, I need fear no 

 man, and then, a day or two afterwards, when I chance to pass 

 that way, the whole meadow is studded with the wee, modest, 

 crimson-tipped flowers, producing an effect of which only Daisies 

 are capable. 



I visit a sunlit pond. The water is cold, dark, and uninviting, 

 but there is life in and about it, and I know that things are 

 stirring. Experience teaches me this, and I realise that patience 

 will bring its own reward ; that soon the pond will respond to 

 stimulus, and life will pulsate with creatures innumerable from 

 muddy bottom to mirrored surface. 



FIG. 65. PROG. 



I note that a few Frogs are already making their annual pilgrim- 

 age to the pond, and it is remarkable to observe how they centralise 

 here from the surrounding fields, woods, and ditches. I watch 

 them migrating to this pond every Spring, and I have developed 

 such a strong habit of climbing the fence to get a better view of the 

 haunt of the rare Water Soldier, that I rarely pass that way without 

 falling into this irresistible temptation. The pond itself is 'always 

 worthy of a visit, even in the depth of Winter, and, although I 

 have only known it for about ten years, it is already associated 

 in my mind with some of my happiest memories. I shall always 

 remember the croaking of the Frogs in Spring, the toothed 

 rosette of leaves of the Water Soldier, the early Blackcap, the 

 Great Reed Mace, and what one day appeared to be an aged 

 Bream, sunning its body near the surface. 



