86 THE ROLL OF THE SEASONS 



changes everywhere. The shoots of the balsam- 

 poplar exude varnish plentifully, then thrust out 

 their tightly rolled and fragrant leaves. The green 

 points on the lilac trees grow, as it were, from mere 

 colour into luminosity, and fatten almost while we 

 watch them. The dead-looking, lichen-covered twigs 

 of the apple, that looked as though they could never 

 blossom or even leaf again, suffer an astonishing 

 change within a few score hours, and every tree, 

 according to its kind, puts forth its summer karma. 



Every manifestation of the power of the sun, how- 

 ever diverse-seeming, is intimately related to some 

 other, and therefore to them all. As soon as the 

 anthers are ripe and shaking out their pollen, the 

 stigmas on some other tree are ready to receive it. 

 If an insect is necessary to effect the introduction, 

 at the right moment bees, moths, flies, or tiny beetles 

 rise from the grave with a craving for honey which 

 they proceed to satisfy without knowing what is the 

 true end served. One cue calls them all, and they 

 rush on the stage from opposite wings, not guessing 

 that the author intends to turn their seriousness into 

 fun or their fun into tragedy. 



Note the appointments that are kept every year 

 with one tree ; for example, the oak blows of fate 

 from which there is no escape. When the catkins 

 are hanging, comes a fly from the debris of last year's 

 foliage on the ground, whose bite, delivered in just 

 this one week of the year's cycle, produces or makes 

 the protoplasm of the tree produce the currant-gall. 

 When the leaves open another fly keeps rendezvous, 

 and with early incision guarantees that by the 29th of 

 May there shall be huge, spongy, rosy " oak-apples." 



