THE STREETS OF THE MOUNTAINS 



high, and as thick as a hedge. Not all the 

 caiion's sifting of snow can fill the intri- 

 cate spaces of the hill tangles. Here and 

 there an overhanging rock, or a stiff arch 

 of buckthorn, makes an opening to com- 

 municating rooms and runways deep under 

 the snow. 



The light filtering through the snow walls 

 is blue and ghostly, but serves to show 

 seeds of shrubs and grass, and berries, and 

 the wind-built walls are warm against the 

 wind. It seems that live plants, especially 

 if they are evergreen and growing, give off 

 heat; the snow wall melts earliest from 

 within and hollows to thinness before there 

 is a hint of spring in the air. But you 

 think of these things afterward. Up in 

 the street it has the effect of being done 

 consciously ; the buckthorns lean to each 

 other and the drift to them, the little birds 

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