MY WOODLAND INTIMATES 



brood over the earth and showers are on their 

 way. 



Here are the first rain-drops, the earliest of the 

 gentle heralds. Let us take refuge under this lit- 

 tle summer shelter and wait for the clearing. It 

 cannot be long delayed. 



Even though you and I are watching closely, 

 we cannot detect that any change is taking place 

 in leaf or bud or blade of grass; yet after the 

 shower is over we will exclaim : " What strides 

 vegetation has taken ; what a marvel has occurred. 

 Leaves have expanded, buds have opened, the 

 grass has grown as if by miracle. How was the 

 wonder brought about ? " 



Now and then, as if in playful condescension, 

 nature shows us a sudden marvel. The flower of 

 the moon plant opens with a tiny explosion. The 

 evening primrose " leaps " from " buds into ripe 

 flowers," and the night-blooming cereus unfolds 

 before our eyes, but as a rule the great mother's 

 workings are so stealthy, so secret, that we can- 

 not tell how or when results are achieved. 



How pleasant the smell of the moistened earth. 

 How musical the sound of the gently falling rain. 

 Its cadence is like an echo from an old Hebrew 

 poem: 



