MINSTREL WEATHER 



less, there are some who think he knows 

 the zest of life better than April's in- 

 fatuated starling or the woodchuck drows- 

 ing in May clover. He loves to kick the 

 chilly brooks into foam and fluster them 

 until they run over their unthawed banks 

 and tear downhill and through the swamp 

 to alarm the rivers, so that they, too, come 

 out on land and the whole world looks as 

 though it had gone back to the watery 

 beginning. He chases north the snowy 

 owl, ornament of our winter woods, and 

 fraternizes with the sinful sparrow. Shrike 

 and grosbeak leave, saying that really it 

 is growing quite warm, and, glancing be- 

 hind them, they behold the March hare 

 turning somersaults in snowdrifts. He 

 freezes the mud that the shore lark was 

 enjoying. No one depends upon him. 

 Yet, to see swift and enchanting changes 

 of sky, lake, and woodland, go forth with 

 the March hare and find with him, better 

 than quiet, the earth astir. 



Trees lose the archaic outline as leaf 

 buds swell. Reddened maples and black 

 ash twigs, yellow flowers on the willow, 

 begin the coloring of a landscape that will 

 not fade to gray and dun again until 

 [14] 



